


whatever this is

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Smut, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: Of course he knew this was coming. It had to end. Whatever they were doing— it couldn’t last. No manner or extent of understanding could even make so much as a hole in the wall between who they both were.





	1. Stacking Up

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this really fast, really spontaneously, and really I just wanted to write some smut and it turned into angst and a sappy love story and. yeah. big wowie. anyway i hope you get something out of it. maybe a slight ooc warning as im kind of poking at a side of each of them i haven't touched in other fics. don't know.
> 
> Takes place in sort of an alternate universe season 4, post 415 and Oswald's second trip to arkham but in a universe where he's running the city again and sort of stays that way, at least for the duration of this fic. Give him nice things.

It took him off guard.

Oswald being there, getting there before them-- as irritating as it was-- was expected. He had the man’s wrists tied to the bed posts, and was on the bed with him, one knee on either side of his waist and a knife to his throat. That shouldn’t have been a surprise either. It was Oswald.

But he’d removed his jacket, was dressed in a dark grey vest and a white long-sleeved shirt with pin-striped slacks that matched the vest and made his ass look amazing and he was bent all the way over.

What took Jim off guard was the three seconds he spent looking before he heard Harvey's footsteps hurry up beside him, snapped out of it, and raised his weapon.

He meant to say “ _GCPD, drop the knife and put your hands up._ ” but all that came out was deep, harsh, threatening _“Oswald!”_

Harvey appeared behind him just in time to point his pistol in the direction of the two thugs further in the room, who’d moved to take aim against Jim, but stopped when four other cops poured in with their weapons raised. Instead their eyes shifted to Oswald on the bed, who was yet to give them an order.

Oswald had frozen, but not with fear or anything close to it. The kind of stiff you have to be to keep yourself from lashing out in rage. The kind of stiff you become when you’re so dissatisfied about the turn of events that you cease to function as you contemplate whether or not to just slit his throat even though you might get shot.

This was the second time Jim had done this to him.

“Jim!” The name strained through Oswald’s clenched teeth, not looking back. “Please.” He pointed the knife hard under the counselor’s throat, but not yet hard enough to break the skin. The man was shaking with terror.

“Please, don’t let him kill me, I’ll do anything—,” the man begged, and Jim didn’t look at him. The man had hired the mob to murder his wife and make it look like an accident to collect life insurance. She’d escaped thanks to Jim and Harvey, but before that he’d spread it around that he was going to withold the money he’d promised for complications and _“because that Penguin is nothing but a little fruitcake.”_ It wasn’t a surprise Oswald had gone after him as well, even if it was a slight embarrassment he’d gotten there first.

Needless to say, he wasn’t anyone whose fate Jim particularly cared about. But he wasn’t about to let Oswald gut him in front of him.

“You’re out-numbered here, Oswald,” Jim started, moving further into the room, albeit slowly. “Get off of him, and walk away.”

Oswald glared daggers over his shoulder, but Jim was just glad he had his attention.

“We have damning evidence and he’ll go straight to blackgate,” Jim promised.

“Not a chance!” Oswald spat. “If people won’t respect me they _will_ fear me, and that’s not going to happen if I give up every moron who crosses me to the GCPD instead of taking care of them myself!”

“You don’t have a choice, Oswald.” Jim said. “If you touch him again, I’ll shoot you.”

Oswald heaved a sigh as he turned back to the sniveling, shaking man who’d been tied to his own bed. He shut his eyes tightly, then raised the knife higher, hearing the click of Jim pulling the hammer back as he tensed at Oswald’s movement. He paid it no mind as he cut the rope tide around the man’s damaged and bleeding wrists.

Jim lowered his weapon as Oswald reluctantly swung his good leg over and got off the bed, followed by the man scrambling desperately to his feet and making a run for the door. He trie pathetically to shove past the police and escape them as well but Harvey caught him easily, turned him around to slam him against the wall.

"Nice try scumbag," Harvey cackled like he was having a good time. “I’ll take care of this, you deal with that,” He said then to Jim, nodding toward Oswald and his men.

“Follow them!” Oswald directed his two cronies after Harvey. Jim looked over at the backup cops with them, gesturing them to follow as well. He could handle Oswald alone, but if those two would be much less likely to try anything if it were five against two.

It earned him a sneer from Oswald as Jim lowered his weapon but it didn’t matter. Even if Oswald decided to jump over the edge and try to off him over the matter, he had a gun.

But Oswald merely huffed, and snatched his jacket off a chair by the bed, the other hand reaching for his cane. Jim watched, pistol at his side rather than raised but not unprepared.

“This isn’t over,” Oswald said when he faced him.

“Yes it is.” Jim insisted, taking a bold step forward as everyone but the two of them spilled out of the room. “You lost.”

Oswald let out a loud "Ha!" followed by giggles that were a mix of distraught and sarcastic.

“Glad you think so. That’ll make it so easy to steal him out from under you before the fat lady sings.” He shoved his arms into his jacket sleeves, spite in every movement.

“Let it go. You scared him to death and he’s going to jail. What more do you want?”

“Actually, no! Not to death! He’s clearly still alive!” Oswald shouted as he yanked at his collar to straighten it. “Hence, my problem!”

“I’m not going to just stand by and let you kill anyone who crosses you. You should know that by now.”

“Obviously I know that! Which is why I was trying to finish before you got here but…” Oswald’s demeanor lightened, smile somehow sheepish yet sinister “…got a little carried away.”

Jim walked closer to him, voice darkening. “I caught you straddling a man tied up in bed with a knife to his throat and—,”

“Ooo—,” Oswald interrupted with a firmly raised index finger, “—sounds kinky when you put it that way,” he took a step forward as well to mock Jim’s obvious attempt at intimidation as his hand fell smoothly too Jim’s collar to straighten it. “Are you going to arrest me?”

Jim’s presence seemed to falter at Oswald’s assertiveness, but perhaps not in the way Oswald wanted. The word “kinky” on Oswald’s lips quickly followed by unscrupulous thoughts from when he first walked in and spent too much time with his eyes raking over the scene. Plus, Oswald was touching his clothes, no doubt for an intimidation but it wasn’t making it to Jim’s brain that way.

“No,” Jim said firmly to reassert himself. It almost failed. “You’d just weasel your way out of it. But I could bring you in and make your day even less pleasant.” Jim said. “So let it go.”

Oswald scoffed, and started to laugh, forced, and like he was humoring and mocking Jim at the same time. As walked past Jim he turned back half-way and started to spout off, “You’ll be hearing from me aga—,”

Jim grabbed him by the front collar of his suit before he could finish, tugging him back to face him. “Oswald—,”

Before he could so much as finish he was pushed back, hard, by both of Oswald’s hands managing a firm handle on his shoulders. It took him off guard and he stumbled, the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell onto it as Oswald stepped closer. Jim swallowed hard, tried to make some form of threatening eye-contact. He didn’t think Oswald had any idea, still too angry about the outcome, but for Jim this situation had just gone from violent to strangely intimate and really, Oswald was at least partially at fault. For shoving Jim onto a bed, for wearing those pants that made his ass look great while on his knees over a man in bed. Kinky didn’t begin to describe it.

“You should really be more careful with how you treat people, Jim,” Oswald said as he came closer, legs stopping just at the outside of Jim’s knees. Jim’s mouth felt dry and he wanted Oswald between them.

“Someone with less patience might get fed up with you.” Oswald was bent forward to look straight into his eyes, a manic grin on his lips as Jim tried to steady his breathing and meet his gaze equally. It was difficult, given that he was having a hard time remembering why they were angry with each other to begin with.

But Oswald was definitely threatening him, and Jim couldn’t stand for that. He snarled and jerked his hand up to grab Oswald by the underside of his tie. It had been to try and reassert something, to take control again. But when he yanked Oswald closer, between his thighs, less than inches from his face, it only made him drift further. Oswald kept a pointedly straight face, all hard frown, tight lips, and furrowed brow, likely waiting for whatever threat or counter he was about to make.

But Jim didn’t have anything. He couldn’t even remember the last thing Oswald had said. All he could think was that he wanted Oswald to stop pressing his lips so tightly together so he could see them. It wasn’t long before he realized there had been at least three seconds of silence and he’d spent all of them staring at Oswald’s mouth.

He didn’t stop, and subconsciously tugged Oswald a little closer when Oswald’s expression finally changed, his mouth opening very slightly in surprise or realization. _Much better._

Jim’s hand loosened on Oswald’s tie as his eyes drifted up from his lips to lock their gaze as one. A breath he’d been holding in came out as he found Oswald’s eyes calmer. Still tense, but not with rage. The same wide eyes, open mouth and quivering bottom lip from so many years ago, when they were both such different people.

A bad idea. That’s what Oswald Cobblepot had been to Jim. Ever since that day at his soon-to-be-club when he asked for help with Flass. The idea had been planted and, despite Jim’s attempts to ignore it, had continued to grow.

Five years and it was still there, the possibility, and in the last one it had grown particularly stronger. So much harder to reason away the more Jim came to understand who he was. Who Oswald and who they were— could be to each other, if he’d just…

Jim turned his hand over, turning the tie with it and wrapping it around his hand, leaning his face closer and tilting it to the side.

“Jim—,” his name came out of Oswald’s lips on a breath, barely a whisper, and Jim’s lips touched his. A feather touch, testing the waters, seeing how it felt and seeing how Oswald would react.

Stillness. Not pulling away, not pressing forward, nothing. Jim thought, maybe he needed just a little help. Maybe that thought was coupled with the memory of the way his thighs and ass looked leaning over the crooked counselor whose name Jim couldn’t remember.

Slowly, gently, Jim raised a hand to the lower back of Oswald’s thigh, prodding it gently with just his fingers at first to encourage Oswald to move closer, rather than away when he made a decision.

He finally did, and Jim felt a mixture of relief and adrenaline when Oswald’s lips crushed against his, breath coming in little huffs from his nose as he moved them frantically against Jim’s. Every part of Jim leapt in response and he moved both his hands to the back of Oswald’s thighs to prod his legs into crawling over him, to straddle his lap him like they had that man.

Oswald strained to oblige, and Jim was patient with featherlight strokes of his knees as he favored his bad leg while trying to climb up. It didn’t seem to be working. The position was slanted and too close to the edge of the bed, too much pressure would be on his bad knee and—

“Jim, I ca-…” Oswald’s voice was breathy and needy but strained and perhaps scared. Scared Jim would end it, push him away if Oswald couldn’t do what he wanted him to do?

Jim grunted in compliance, and took hold of Oswald’s lower back, pressing his body tight between his legs and holding him there until he could flip them around. Until Oswald’s back was on the bed and Jim was between his legs, rolling his hips down against his groin and listening to him gasp, then moan. Jim looked him in the eyes and found pause enough to realize how hard he was, how far gone he was. They didn’t have much time anyway.

He leaned down, Oswald’s arms coming to rest on his back as their bodies aligned and Jim found how well he fit beneath him. He smelled like dry cleaning and blood, and it occurred to Jim that while he may have failed with the counselor, he’d likely killed or had someone else killed to get to him. Then he stopped thinking about it.

His breath came out in a growl and he leaned down and buried face in Oswald’s neck, surprisingly soft hair against his nose. Oswald bucked his hips up with impatience, causing Jim to pin them down hard with his own. He snaked his hands and arms underneath Oswald’s at the shoulders, and curled his fingers into the sheets to hold on.

“Oz,” Jim’s lips against his ear, almost a whine before he rolled his hips once, hard, felt the mix of heat and thrust forward and up again, then again, faster, the sound of the friction of clothing and of Oswald’s panting against his ear the only sound in the room as Oswald pressed back, fingers pulling at or holding onto the back of Jim’s jacket so tight he might tear it.

“Jim!” Oswald breathed. He wanted them off, the clothes— everything between them, he wanted all of it to disappear, everything to happen right now but Jim was just rutting against him with so much strength he thought he might break and there was no pause, no chance to do anything but hold on tight the friction and Jim’s breath on his neck sent his eyes rolling back.

Oswald wasn’t sure how long had passed, but it didn’t seem like that long before Jim’s mouth against his throat was crying out and his thrusts became slow, shaky, until he was pressing Oswald so hard into mattress that it creaked like the frame might snap.

Once his cognition returned it didn’t take much thought for Oswald to realize— James Gordon had just come. 

o-o-o

Jim had up and left, unsurprisingly, without a word. He didn’t even give Oswald the time to gather himself enough to spout something sarcastic about a hit and run. He’d just pulled himself off, looked down at Oswald with the wide-eyed expression of a man confused and upset with himself, and then left the room.

Typical.

As much as he’d tried to put it out of his mind, Oswald had been thinking about it all day.

And why wouldn’t he? Jim Gordon had orgasmed in under five minutes like a twenty-year-old virgin while dry-humping Oswald on someone else’s— a convict’s— bed. Oswald had been plenty turned on, but he was sure he would have needed, wanted a bit more to get quite that far.

Nothing, _nothing_ like this had happened to him _ever_ , let alone recently. He’d been with a total of two men in his life thus far. Both in his twenties, and both were short-term, and for him almost ended up feeling like an awkward obligation after the initial attraction wore off, which for Oswald usually happened within hours, by the time they got to bed. None of them were quite his type. Or, more accurately, he was just picky.

But _this._ This was just obscene. He’d call it one-sided had he not spent the aftermath enjoying lying underneath a hard chest, strong thighs collapsed between his, hips still rubbing against him slowly with futility in the after-sex glow. If sex was even the right word.

Of course he wanted Jim. Hadn’t thought about it consciously in years, sure, but it was there. Pulling the strings of his mind before he knew it, manipulating him into a deep desire to trust when the rest of him knew better. But he never expected anything to come of it, and nothing had, really. A quick game of frottage to let off steam in someone else’s bed wasn’t what anything close to Oswald wanted. He may have been a violent man in everything else, but when it came to romance he wanted rose petals, slow-kisses, soft touches, and candlelit meals.

Still, that didn’t mean he’d disliked it. Certainly he couldn’t discredit it as evidence that Jim was in some way physically attracted to him. It wasn’t what Oswald wanted, but he also knew the likelihood that it was all he would get. And it wasn’t nothing.

o-o-o

Like clockwork and despite their intimate encounter, Oswald had attempted— succeeded in stealing the counselor from GCPD clutches during a transfer. There was no attack on the van, no reports of loitering or following. According to the driver and escort, he’d simply disappeared.

There was no evidence, but it was obvious they’d been paid off.

“I should have been there.” Jim said to Harvey, minutes after the news had reached them.

“You can’t be everywhere, Jim, and solving a double homicide of two innocent people is more important than saving a creep from the mob.” Harvey reasoned, as if he’d already recited the reply before Jim even made the complaint.

“But he was mine, I tracked him down and brought him in."

“And when the transfer started, he stopped being your responsibility.”

“I’m captain, everything is my responsibility.” Jim argued. “I’m going to see Penguin,” he grabbed his jacket and made for the exit.

“Jim, god damn it he’s just going to deny everything!” Jim was out the door before he’d finished that sentence. It was close to quitting time, and Harvey had been about to ask Jim to go for drinks and relax. But what could Harvey do if Jim preferred to spend his free time shouting at and pissing off the Penguin?

o-o-o

Oswald was only half-surprised to hear Jim Gordon was on the premesis. The other half was a cold sweat, a nervousness he’d thought he’d trained out of him. It had nothing to do with the counselor preface and everything to do with the fact that the last time he’d seen Jim they were moaning in unison, Jim’s body snug between his legs.He didn’t have the slightest idea how to get there again. Not without being obvious and overly vulnerable, of course, and who knew where such risks would leave him? He knew he’d show up soon and had thought to prepare, but what did that mean? The best he came up with was to make sure his outward appearance was particularly immaculate, but not far off from his usual attire. He didn’t even know what Jim liked— and he couldn’t believe he’d spent so much time thinking about it.

“Is he dead?” Jim’s demanding voice boomed the moment his eyes fell upon Oswald. Oswald shouldn’t have wanted to swoon.

“Jim!” Oswald greeted as best he could, ignoring the initial impoliteness. “To what do I owe the—,”

Jim had him backed against the wall before he could finish speaking, and Oswald’s breath stopped.

“I asked you a question!”

The last million times Jim had tried roughness for intimidation, Oswald had found it lacking. Pathetic, even, as unless Jim had gone and injected himself with another virus, he couldn’t see the man physically bringing himself to hurt him. There was no reason to call his men in for a dog that was all bark.

But now, Oswald found himself at a loss for words, a desire to give in, give him what he wanted just to make him let him go before his face and ears turned beet red and his need for him became too obvious. Had this been Jim’s plan all along?

No, that was absurd.

He still hadn’t said anything, and Jim shoved him harder to gain his attention.

“Yes! Obviously!” Oswald spat, fed up before he realized he’d just confessed to accessory to murder at the very least. But no matter, he could deny it later. Jim knew that. “You’re too late!” _Now get out!_ He’d almost said, but he didn’t want Jim to follow that directive. Not yet.

Jim glared hard at him, but then started to look around the room, behind him, and at the doorways. “Are you all alone, Oswald?” Jim turned to him with a sinister smirk. “Where are your thugs?”

“Please, like I need them to deal with you.” Oswald slapped Jim’s hand on his collar, startling him into dropping it before shoving him away, effectively proving his point as he straightened his suit.

“You just confessed to murder.” There it was.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oswald walked past him to where his drink was on the table, and titled his head all the way back to down what was left of it in one go.

Jim scoffed audibly from behind him.

“Why are you here, Jim?” Oswald said, turning. “You got what you wanted out of me, a confession, and you clearly already know how useless that is unless you packed a tape recorder and… even then…” Oswald trailed off, smirking slightly at the thought of his own power.

“You lost,” Oswald laughed, or it was really more of an evil, mocking giggle. “No surprise there.” Jim’s eyes shifted away from him, his resolve clearly cracking in light of the truth. That was a relief because the reality was that more than once Jim had an annoying scheme up his sleeve that was just boneheaded enough to inconvenience or land Oswald in Arkham, but his face confirmed otherwise.

“So, again, why are you here?” Not that it wasn’t nice for Jim to show up just to offer him the perfect opportunities to gloat.

 

Oswald waited, surprised that Jim seemed to be considering his answer rather than just storming out. He looked uncomfortable, like he was having trouble deciding on the truth of the matter and having trouble making his feet move to leave at the same time.

Oswald watched with interest, and wet his lips with his tongue only to catch Jim’s eyes zeroing in on the movement. Before he would have dismissed it, as what he couldn’t recall, but there was always a way to convince himself Jim Gordon didn’t want him like that. But not now, not after…

Boldly, Oswald placed his hands behind him on the table, and hopped up and back so he was sitting on it, complete with a conniving little grin.

“Like you said, I’m all alone right now, he said. “Zsasz has the day off, the others are out following my orders, and Mack, who was supposed to play bodyguard, called in sick.” It was a lie. They were upstairs because Oswald had ordered the lower floor cleared, no one to come down without his say-so.

Jim didn’t look confused, and he didn’t ask why Oswald was offering the information freely. It had to be obvious. He was insinuating, welcoming something, and by the needy look in his eyes when Jim's met with them, maybe some part of him was begging for it.

Jim’s resolve had been tainted by the memory of Oswald underneath him since he’d walked into the room. Once he was sure Oswald was in the same place he could have walked away. Left Oswald pining for him, gone home and imagine Oswald touching himself while thinking of him. He may have done just that, until his eyes zeroed in on the movement when Oswald spread opened his thighs further, just slightly as if to be inconspicuous, but the action itself was so lewd it sent Jim’s mind reeling.

The moment Jim realized he wanted Oswald just as much if not more was the moment he threw all thoughts of leaving him to the wind, as well as whatever caution he had left.

He surged forward, hands landing on Oswald’s knees as he pointedly shoved them further apart, eyes locked onto Oswald’s, he crammed himself between them. Fingertips slid up Oswald’s thighs driven only by the sound of his heavy breaths as he pressed his face in the crook of Oswald’s neck and breathed in. No blood this time, just cologne and maybe a hint of nervous sweat.

Hands found their way behind Oswald and pressed against his lower back to pull his hips forward, harder against him. Oswald’s moan was a whisper of a breath to start and a shout by the end as Jim ground into him. It stuttered and cracked and Jim didn’t know why it sounded like raw poetry. He just knew he wanted to hear a lot more.

Oswald tilted his head all the way back and Jim’s mouth attached to it like it belonged there. Teeth, tongue, wet, warm… Oswald opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. His hands on Jim’s back, Jim yanking him closer to get two full palms of his ass and squeeze, pressing himself hard against Oswald at the same time.

Oswald closed his eyes as a hand found its way down the back of his pants, surprisingly agile and with very clear intent. When Jim touched his entrance, Oswald gasped and groaned and bucked his hips with desperation. Jim’s pace quickened, hands pulled at Oswald’s clothes as Oswald tried to hold on and keep up at the same time.He didn’t know what this meant for sure, how far this was going to go. For a moment he was sure this was going to be too fast to be enjoyable, that he might somehow end up fucked by Jim Gordon and miserable at the same time.

But then everything paused, and he found himself able to loosen his sweaty, clinging hands on the back of Jim’s shirt.

“Is this okay?” Jim was asking before he was coherent enough to process words. He tilted his head back to down to look at Jim’s face, looking straight back at him. Seeing him, eyes hungrily dragging down from his own and getting stuck on his probably kiss-puffed lips.

Oswald realized he hadn’t answered. “Yes,” he said, breathily, and was no longer worried in the slightest about not enjoying this. The glint in Jim’s eyes at his response pushed him over the edge. “I want everything you want, give me anything…” words came pouring out before he’d thought them through. That was it, there was no taking back how desperate he sounded.

Jim kissed him, long and hard, forcing his neck back as he did, their noses smushed together because he hadn’t aimed that well. It took everything Oswald had not to smile underneath it.

“Bed.” Jim said against his lips, and Oswald nodded, agreeing to lead the way.

o-o-o-o

Oswald had long since been opposed, and even afraid of the idea of Jim finding out he wanted him. Hell, he’d been opposed to even admitting it to himself. So even when Jim made it clear the feeling was at least physically mutual, Oswald had remained a certain degree of reserved.

But now Jim knew, and things were going… well, to say the least.

They didn’t talk about it. That wasn’t ideal. But Oswald was starting to realize that as he experienced more and more of what Jim could do to him, particularly with his mouth, he didn’t mind not talking. Whenever Jim came to him with unspoken but obvious intent to... _be intimate_ , he just wanted to get his hands on him. And that was happening _a lot._

Oswald knew not to hope for more. He’d known that going in. But it didn’t stop him from making mental lists of all the things Jim liked while he was supposed to be listening to his scout’s status reports.

He could feel the little smirk on his face, his eyes drifting idly around the room as he checked off the confirmation based on his memory that Jim was definitely sensitive at his ears and scalp. One mouth full of lobe had him groaning and biting down on Oswald’s neck like he was holding on to his sanity with his teeth. He was a biter. Not hard, not enough to break skin— not yet anyway.

He liked when Oswald was loud, he liked when Oswald was rough and pulled his hair, when he was defiant, when he tried just hard enough to take point that Jim had to work to keep it.

The list went on, and there were uncertain categories that needed more evidence as well as completely undiscovered territory. It wasn’t what Oswald had wanted, but right now it was enough. Fun, and made him feel alive— hell, even made him more focused at work. It was just sex but Jim was still kind, gentle when Oswald wanted him to be. Oswald wouldn’t have traded their time together for anything.

That was why when he got the text, every ounce of focus he had was thrown off.

_'We need to talk.'_

That’s all it said. Not the end of the world, and Oswald had tried to not let his mind run away with the worst possibilities. But he made the mistake of replying with “About what?” Instead of _when_ or _where_ , or just _okay._

When Jim didn’t reply to that for an entire day, that’s when Oswald felt himself on edge. Sitting alone in his office, the door shut, he stared at the phone and the words on it, trying to come to terms. 

Of course he knew this was coming. It had to end. Whatever they were doing— it couldn’t last. No manner or extent of understanding could even make so much as a hole in the wall between who they both were. Oswald had always known that, it was part of why he time and time again forgiven Jim for so much shit.

It was who he was, and Oswald wouldn’t change it. It was part of why he loved him.

His eyes widened at the thought, the presence of that L word worming its way in like it belonged.

Did it?

No, he couldn’t think about that. Especially not when Jim was most likely on the verge of breaking up with him— or, breaking off whatever they’d started. Oswald wondered how hard it would be, if it wouldn’t leave something behind that neither of them could truly shake.

The phone buzzed, and Oswald’s eyes darted down to look at the screen.

 _'I’m outside.'_ It read, and Oswald tensed. Jim was here, and that was frequently the highlight of his day as of late. But not this time.

He didn’t want to talk. Couldn’t they just fuck again? Well— they hadn’t actually done that yet, but that was just one more reason to be upset that it was ending.

Oswald’s feet carried him toward the door almost on auto-pilot. Jim wasn’t knocking, so clearly he was expecting Oswald to answer it thanks to the text. When Oswald opened the door it was hard to speak. His body felt heavy with the need to be touching Jim. It had been two days, and normally when they were alone together it was an instant embrace, the inability to get enough of each other.

Would he ever be able to look at Jim and not think of that again?

“Oswald.” Jim greeted, and Oswald nodded, forcing a smile and stepping aside to let him in.

“Jim,” Oswald said. Polite nothings were all he had. It was too difficult to ask if everything was okay, what Jim needed to talk about. He was afraid of the answers, and already almost certain they weren’t what he wanted to hear.

Oswald closed the door behind him, and walked past him into the lounge.

“Please, sit down.” Oswald gestured toward a chair and then the couch, waiting for Jim to choose before choosing one himself. Jim took the couch, so Oswald sat in the chair across from it.

“So,” Oswald said, breaking a silence that had barely begun out of fear that it would. “How are things?” Small talk— they didn’t do small talk. They never had, and it felt strange and made his mouth run dry with regret.

Jim took a deep breath, and Oswald was thankful he didn’t respond to it.

“Like I said, we need to talk.”

Oswald opened his mouth because he felt like he needed to keep this going, get it out and over with. But when he did nothing came out, and instead he felt himself freeze as he knew his face had visibly fallen.

“You know what about,” Jim continued, as if to confirm, and Oswald closed his eyes to calm himself, before opening them and nodding.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, firmly, as if he’d built himself up to it. “I know I started this, I know it was out of nowhere. I wanted you so much and suddenly it was so easy,” Jim’s voice had softened by the end. The first part sounded almost trained and scripted, whereas by the end emotion and truth was simply falling off his tongue. “I never imagined it would be so easy.”

 _I wanted you so much._ Those words made Oswald’s heart pound so hard he felt it in his throat and he couldn’t speak.

Oswald wanted to say something, tell him the truth, tell him everything. But Jim was leaving him, and ‘I wanted you too’ and ‘I love you’ would only make it harder, worse in the end. God, Oswald loved him. Wanted to be kissing him, wanted to have him to kiss forever.

Jim seemed a loss for words, and in the silence, Oswald was surprised to find some resolve.

“It’s fine, Jim,” he said. “It’s been fun.”

Jim’s looked at him with surprise in his face, like he wasn’t expecting Oswald to take it so well. “Fun?”

Oswald forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hoped the fun was mutual…” he joked, and Jim’s face broke out into a small smile that broke his heart.

“Right,” Jim said, nodding, lips stretched wryly up into the same smile. “I’ve had fun,” he nodded.

Oswald was ready, he had to be. Of all the ways this could end— that any relationship could end— well, it could have been so much worse. He knew Jim’s feelings were different from his. He was ready for this.

“I appreciate you coming to do this in person, properly,” Oswald said.

“Oswald—,”

“Just another reason you’re such a catch,” he jutted his finger humorously at Jim, grinning the most painful smile he’d had to wear in a long time. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he didn’t need Jim to say anything. He just needed him to know he understood, and then leave so they could both move on.

“Is this what you want?” Jim asked, after some time, and Oswald blinked. Why would he ask that? How cruel was he?

His mouth fell open and he couldn’t answer. His mind screamed no. No, no no No NO NO, he wanted so many things that were so far the opposite but that was why it had to end, wasn’t it? What he felt for Jim right now was incredibly dangerous, but rejection wouldn’t make it go away. It would remain dangerous so there was no reason not to want and it was impossible to say “yes,” to Jim’s question.

He couldn’t, and therefore he couldn’t speak.

“Nevermind,” Jim said, looking away. “Sorry. If this is what you want, I’ll accept it,” he nodded.

Oswald’s eyes widened. “What?”

“This isn’t how I imagined this talk going…” Jim said.

“No, go back,” Oswald interrupted. “You’ll accept it? Are you saying you wanted something else?”

Jim’s eyes widened now too. He looked uncertain.

Oswald wet his lips, overwhelmed with hope as he watched Jim shift uncomfortably across from him, clearly confused and lost for words. “I don’t want to stop seeing each other. I thought—” he cut himself off abruptly, “…but then why do we need to have a talk about it?”

Jim stared at him, and for a few moments Oswald was sure he’d been right the first time and now he’d made a terrible mistake of a confession.

But then Jim started to laugh, gently, and Oswald’s heart felt light and like he wanted him in his arms immediately.

“I just… thought we should talk about it because we haven’t yet.” Jim said, finally, and Oswald melted at the way his eyes shifted subtly to Oswald— tentatively. “You thought I was ending it?”

Oswald’s eyes shifted to his lap as his face turned red and a relieved smile stretched at his lips. He forced an awkward laugh. “I had thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t at first,” Jim said. “That’s why I started with the apology. It wasn’t fair, and it was probably confusing.”

Oswald swallowed. “Why are you being kind? You know that I—,”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jim interrupted. “Right now that doesn’t matter. I just needed to make sure we’re both okay with this continuing the way it is.”

The way it is. Words Oswald wanted to protest against as the little voice that screamed about wanting more returned. How long would it take for him to truly make peace with this reality?

“Yes.” Oswald breathed out, because at least this time, saying yes meant he would soon be kissing Jim, holding him in his arms, breathing as one.

“Also…” Jim said awkwardly. “I thought we should discuss taking things a little further. As opposed to just awkwardly falling into it like we have everything so far.”

Oswald was feeling better already.

“I told you I want everything you’ll give me,” he said, voice becoming a little softer, darker. Suggestive.

Jim took these words in with some obvious hesitance, and Oswald stood, crossing the room to lean over him.

Oswald braced his hands on the back of the couch and brushed his lips against Jim’s ear, feeling Jim’s skin shake as he shuddered beneath them, “ _Anything._ ”

A harsh grunt and a moment later, Oswald was on his back on that same couch, losing clothes one piece after another and pulling less successfully at Jim’s. Jim was absolutely terrible at undressing himself but seemed to love getting Oswald naked. Then he’d do something forceful and selfish like pinning Oswald’s arms behind his head or linking their fingers and Oswald was helpless to get those clothes off like he wanted to.

It made sense that Jim was better at all of this, but Oswald still wished he could have gotten further, seen more. Perhaps he’d wished it a little too far, because before he knew it he was taking each flap in the center of Jim’s button-down into tight fists and yanking, sending buttons flying every which way. He listened to them clatter to the ground one after another as they both paused. Jim looked down at him with surprise as Oswald looked away sheepishly but lost for words.

Then his eyes shifted to the tanktop underneath, his breath picked up, and reality set in more clearly. He could more than afford to replace a few of Jim’s shirts. Hell, he could buy him brand new and better shirts for no reason. Or other things. Give him gifts. Like he would if they were more. 

Oswald shook the thoughts away. He’d replace what he broke and nothing else

.He rushed to get his hands underneath the hem of the tank-top, and push it up before Jim had even gotten the button down over his arms. Oswald palmed over his nipples and watched them grow before his eyes just under the hem of the pushed-up shirt and it was the filthiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Having fun?” Jim asked, roughly, hands partially idle at Oswald’s waist. Oswald’s eyes flicked up to his to acknowledge the question, but he didn’t have an answer. So instead he flicked his thumb over Jim’s nipple and listened to the quiet, tamed moan.

He could only think of three words to say to Jim as he pinched the nub and watched his eyes flutter shut, lips drop open. Three words he could never say or mean.

“Jim,” he found himself whispering, voice cracking into something else half-way through. Jim’s eyes opened and locked onto his, finally pulling the tanktop over his head and then leaned down to kiss him. Chest to chest, skin against skin, Oswald’s hands roaming as they pleased.

“You sure you want to do this?” Jim asked, looking Oswald in the eye again. Oswald must’ve seemed apprehensive, otherwise Jim wouldn’t have gone as far as to ask. He wasn’t apprehensive, not about the situation, only about the future.

“I’m sure,” Oswald answered, injecting confidence into his voice whether it wanted to be there or not. He wanted it, his body wanted it and he could tell Jim wanted it— he’d started almost all of their encounters going straight for the fingering like he’d been testing the waters from the beginning. Oswald had simply been waiting for him to ask, but until now it had seemed easier to stick to things that didn’t require so much pre-requisite.

He wanted it, and why shouldn’t he? He was already in love, what else could go horribly, painfully wrong?

o-o-o-o

The light was still on. Dimmed, but on, and neither of them were sleeping. They’d moved from the couch to the bed— hard against a wall somewhere along the way, and almost the bathroom sink as Jim scavenged for the things they needed.

This was something else that had never happened before. They were awake, naked, and Jim was still here. Not just here, but he’d wrapped his arms around Oswald from behind, pulled him in so their legs folded against each other and their feet entwined at the bottom. Spooning— they’d definitely never spooned.

“Are you staying?” Oswald asked. It was fine if he was. It was late, and his men and housekeeping had probably either gone home or to bed.

Jim grunted, like it was supposed to be his response.

Oswald scoffed, and felt Jim smile with his lips against the back of his neck.Whatever this was, it was nice. It meant nothing, that’s how Oswald had to see all of it from now on. But it felt amazing.

o-o-o-o

The nights went on. Somewhere along the way, they became days as well, and the frequency increased. Oswald kept waiting for Jim to tire of him, find someone else, but almost two months since the beginning and Jim would still call, text, show up at his door, or meet him by chance and jump through hoops to get them alone together for at least some form of contact. It didn’t seem like anyone in Jim’s life knew, not even Harvey.

Small talk had found its way into their visits, which made everything just a little bit more relaxing and unnerving at the same time. Oswald asked Jim who his first kiss was while touching and studying the pads of his fingers. Then Jim asked him the same, and Oswald told him the story of being nine years old and being kissed by a girl who just wanted to make his mother angry. When Jim had asked him his first real kiss, Oswald had lied and made up some guy he met in his teens. The reality was that it happened in his twenties, but after Jim gave him a cliche but infuriatingly heartwarming story about his high-school sweetheart, Oswald felt he had to live up to it. He regretted it instantly.

But he killed indiscriminately and risked and destroyed lives for power and profit. Somewhere inside him, Jim hated him for that. He couldn’t bare to give Jim one more reason to look down on him, no matter how silly it was.

“What about a guy?” Oswald had asked following his lie, perhaps to take some of the pressure off. “Please tell me it wasn’t me.”

“Ha, you wish,” Jim’s short laugh send a quick vibration through the mattress and Oswald felt it, and looked at the side of his face. This was normal now, lying in the after-sex glow and talking until Jim left, or fell asleep.

“Army, then?” Oswald suggested.

“No, mostly just sucked dick back then,” Jim said.

“Don’t be crude,” Oswald grumbled, clearly blushing, and Jim laughed again, choosing not to mention that Oswald hadn’t been complaining thirty minutes ago when it was his dick. 

“First guy was senior year. Just a guy at a party, hot enough to make a guy who thought he was straight curious. Gay enough to make all the first moves.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Oswald said with sarcasm, and Jim laughed, rolling over to throw an arm over Oswald’s chest.

“Mind if I sleep here again?” Jim asked.

Oswald looked at him, fell into his asking eyes, and nodded once in confirmation.

o-o-o-o a few days later o-o-o-o

Lying in the afterglow, this time in soft moonlight, the silence was broken by the growling of Jim’s stomach.

Oswald felt Jim tense beside him, and couldn’t help himself but to look over. He knew what that sound was— of course he did. What he didn’t know was how to offer to feed him.

“Sorry…” Jim cleared his throat. “Skipped lunch,” he explained, then turned his head to look at the bedside clock. 8:30 pm. “…and dinner.”

Oswald took a few moments to answer. No doubt Jim would simply leave were he hungry enough, though it was still hard to resist offering him dinner.

“What would you have had?” Oswald asked instead, just to kill the awkward pause in their formerly comfortable silence.

Jim snorted, shrugged. “A burger, maybe, I don’t know. Something easy.”

“Is that your favorite food?”

“Garbage that’s probably slowly killing me?” Jim considered, “…I guess it must be.”

Oswald released a small laugh in response, and shrugged. “Mine was anything my mother made,” he said, without thinking, and instantly regretted it.

Jim was quiet for a few moments, and Oswald felt horrid for making things even more awkward by bringing her up. Jim knew what happened to her, how hung up Oswald was on her, he—

“I guess mine was anything Lee made,” Jim confessed, letting out a slow breath. Oswald’s eyes shifted to him, a little stunned by the depths the conversation had reached and the honesty in his voice. She must’ve been a hard subject to face, especially given that he and Oswald had just slept together— had been sleeping together. And given the obvious fact that Jim remained attached to her.

“If I had to pick a favorite, her goulash.” Oswald said, trying to keep things light, and also just trying to find somewhere to go that wouldn’t make Jim run away.

“Tuna casserole,” Jim spoke, and Oswald knew he was sounding off his favorite dish that Lee had made. Oswald wondered if it was the taste that made it his favorite, or something else. Maybe the night that came with it, maybe she smiled at him across the table as he took the first bite and that was the moment he fell in love. That's how it worked, wasn't it?

“I like tuna, too.” he said, and Jim snorted, and even laughed. 

“I guess penguins like fish,” he rested his arm behind his head, relaxing further. Oswald sputtered something between an offended snort and a laugh, and he was blushing.

“I could find you something to eat in the house,” Oswald asked, finally, because it seemed natural now, “if you want?”

“Nah, I should get going. I’ll pick something up on my way home.”

Oswald watched him start to get up, just like that. It was fine, expected, but he wanted to kiss him good-bye. He didn’t try.

He didn’t realize until after Jim left that he’d forgotten his jacket.

o-o-o-o

He kept forgetting to return it, and it seemed Jim kept forgetting to ask for it back. He must’ve had more than one, as he’d shown up with another and always wore that one home instead of ever asking for the one he’d left.

As of now it was still hanging in Oswald’s closet. He’d almost had it dry-cleaned, but it didn’t smell— didn’t smell bad, anyway. It smelled good. Or, it had the first night he’d picked it up. He hadn’t touched it since, but he liked to imagine it still smelled that way— the way that made him feel like Jim was still in the room.

There was also that shirt that Oswald had destroyed all the buttons on. He’d long-since replaced it with a discrete package by mail, but he still had the old one. He kept meaning to repair it, or throw it away.

After that it got worse. Jim’s underwear, of all things, because he’d pulled his jeans on without it in a rush and never asked about it. That, Oswald had washed, because his fetishes didn’t quite extend that far— and yet, he still failed to give it back any of the times he’d seen Jim since. He was slowly procuring an entire change of Jim Gordon’s clothes for absolutely no reason he could understand.

Maybe he was just collecting evidence.

o-o-o-o a month later o-o-o

Oswald rubbed at the ache in his shoulder, alone in his dim-lit room. He pulled at the sticky part of the bandage as it started to itch, and re-adjusted it even though he’d been told not to touch it.

Having been shot was certainly nothing new, but the fact that he’d been shot and it still wasn’t over was concerning. He couldn’t very well stay at home and send his goons out to handle it. Not only because he needed to maintain a sense of presence and strength over his operation, but because his hot-headedness didn’t seem to be allowing it.

This was dangerous. These enemies were numbered and powerful—powerful enough to have gotten him shot— and worst of all was that they were unknown. He didn’t know where they came from or what the wanted, aside from to shoot him in the shoulder and leave him mulling over the entire ordeal.

It wasn’t new, but he was tired of it. He often wished Gotham could just sit still for a few days while he ate sandwiches and had sex with James Gordon.

Speaking of… his phone buzzed on far end of the desk. He leaned forward immediately to snatch it up.

_'Is this a good time?_

Oswald had already typed the word ‘yes’ when his shoulder started to ache, and he remembered he was injured and wrapped in bandages and probably in no shape to have his limbs manipulated into whatever compromising position Jim was in the mood for.

He deleted it, and replied _‘Not the best, I hurt my shoulder,’_

_‘I heard you were shot.’_

Oswald scoffed at the text on the screen _‘If you already knew then why did you ask?’_

_‘I heard it was two days ago.'_

Oswald frowned, mildly insulted, as if his ability to recover from bullet wounds had been challenged. Certainly, not everyone could get shot six times and be back on the job in a week’s time, but Oswald liked to think he probably could have. Though, his bullet wounds usually came one at a time.

 _‘I’m coming anyway.’_ Jim had texted before Oswald replied, and then again, _‘I was already on my way.’_

 _‘How presumptuous’_ Oswald typed, but made no objection. When Jim didn’t reply, Oswald assumed it merely meant he’d arrive soon. Two weeks ago that would have meant fixing his hair, putting on one of his best, newest suits. But recently that had felt unnecessary and tiresome as Jim was just going to take it off anyway. Not that he didn’t want to give Jim what he wanted— but it was becoming evident, perhaps slower than it should have, that all Jim really wanted was for him to be naked. So why bother?

So he stayed in his loose-fitting, partially unbuttoned white button-down that was meant to be worn under a vest or suit jacket, stayed in his slacks, and waited for his phone to buzz again.

o-o-o

“It still hurts?” Jim reached out toward his shoulder where the bandages were still clearly visible clearly though his thin shirt. Oswald looked down as the tips of Jim’s fingers stopped just short of touching.

Oswald shrugged, “not as much.”

Jim’s hand fell back to his side without touching him.

“Should I be here?” He asked, softly, and it was obvious what he was really asking as there was only one thing Jim Gordon came here for.

“It’s fine,” Oswald said, shrugging, “just be careful.”

Jim nodded slowly, and took a step forward, kissing him on the mouth. Oswald wasn’t positive he was in the mood until that happened, but now he wanted to melt into it.

“Am I good at that?” Jim asked in a whisper against his lips. “Being careful?” His hand brushed Oswald’s thigh just above his knee on his bad leg, and Oswald knew what he meant.

“As good at it as I need you to be,” Oswald replied, tone light, and Jim seemed to search his eyes for a lie, perhaps some sign that Oswald was just telling him what he wanted to hear. Or maybe just trying to figure out exactly what he meant. Oswald stared back at them, tried not to let the concern in them go to his head. Jim was a good man, he didn’t want to hurt anyone in this way. Oswald wasn’t special.

After a few moments, Jim seemed to accept the reply, raised his hands to Oswald’s waist, and kissed him again.

-o-o-o-o-o

Jim has passed out almost immediately after he’d come, and Oswald wasn’t far off. He was sure Jim had been out there, running around, saving innocents and shooting bad guys, tackling purse thieves and the like. Oswald was just aching in his shoulder and his leg, and if sleep could take him despite it, then it was the best painkiller out there.

Unfortunately, he woke up later to a sore knee. According to the vintage analog alarm clock next to his bed, it was 2:03 AM. Oswald rolled over slowly, not sure what he’d find. There was always the chance Jim would leave in the middle of the night, he’d done it before.

His heart beat faster when he didn’t see anything but a pile of blankets beside him, bunched up and blocking his view. He was sure Jim had shoved them off and piled them up when he’d left— until he heard a soft sigh from the other side and quickly reached a hand up to flatten them down to find Jim’s still, sleeping face. His heart settled. There was a full moon, for once a sky not blotched out by clouds, illuminating his face in the dark.

He was naked and he’d opted out of the blankets that night, only covered from the waist down by the white sheet. Lying on his back, head turned sideways on the pillow so Oswald could see all the features of his face in the moonlight. This wasn’t something he was meant to see— this wasn’t what they were.

His leg throbbed once more and he shut his eyes tightly to endure it without making a sound. He liked to avoid the pills as often as he could, but he had a lot to take care of tomorrow and he couldn’t miss anymore sleep than what Jim had already taken from him.

Sighing harshly, he pushed the covers off himself, got up as quietly as he could, and headed for the bathroom.

It wasn’t until he turned on the light and looked in the mirror that he remembered he was naked too— of course he was. Jim’s favorite thing for him to be lately. He watched himself laugh at the thought, then frowned at his own reflection. His eyes were squinted, still adjusting, hair as unruly as ever thanks to the way Jim liked to twist and pull at it.

Something about it felt odd, surreal almost. Looking at himself in the middle of the night on one of these nights, his own face, who he was and knowing in just a minute he’d be crawling back into bed with…

He huffed, and reached for the mirror which opened into a cabinet, revealing all sorts of different kinds of medication. He grabbed the usual, wolfed down the recommended amount with less than the recommended amount of water to follow, and left the bathroom.

He didn’t look at Jim as he got back into bed. It helped that the room was dark and his eyes had readjusted to the light, so the moonlight wasn’t quite enough to give him a view. Thanks to this, he made himself pretend Jim wasn’t there at all.

He hadn’t pulled the blanket all the way up because Jim had the right idea, it was hot. He regretted it when he felt the mattress shift, heard movement behind him, felt Jim’s arm wrap around his naked waist, hand rubbing his belly, lips on the top of his spine until Jim was pressing the front of his body against Oswald’s back.

“Does your shoulder hurt?” Jim asked, voice groggy and tired.

“My leg,” Oswald answered, relaxing against him, “it’ll take a little while for the pills to set in,” he finished with a resigned sigh as Jim idly rubbed his nose and lips against Oswald’s shoulder just above the bandage.

Jim hummed in response, and started to move again, this time scooting downward, kissing Oswald’s back on his way until he got low enough that Oswald became curious and rolled over partially—

“What are you d—,” he stopped himself when Jim tugged his leg— the good one that wasn’t throbbing, over his shoulder, settling with his head between them and the right one propped up over his shoulder.

“Distracting you,” Jim said, eyes gazing up at Oswald from between his thighs. “If you want…” he trailed off, sounding uncertain. Oswald looked down at him, at the way his lips were only inches away, and nodded quickly.

He saw the tip of Jim’s tongue slide out from between his lips before his eyes rolled back into his head an his head pressed back into the pillow.

o-o-o

Oswald awoke to a problem he’d never run into before. His leg and shoulder felt fine, minimal pain at most, which explained why he’d slept so late. The clock read 11:30, and he blinked at it, surprised none of his men had woke him up with an update on their unknown enemy. They had to have found something by now. He groaned, rubbed his eyes, started to move and—

—there was an arm thrown heavily over his waist.

_Shit._

“Jim!” He all but erupted into a sitting position, voice panicked as he searched the room for Jim’s clothes. Jim was awake and wide-eyed at the sound of Oswald’s voice almost immediately, rubbing his face with one hand and sitting up with a face like he had no idea where he was but he could tell there was urgency and he was ready to move.

“It’s almost noon!” Oswald said, spotting Jim’s pants and belt across the room and throwing the blanket off himself to get them. “Don’t you have work? You usually set an alarm!” He picked them up off the ground and threw them at Jim without looking.

“Shit,” Jim said, thought he sounded significantly less panicked than Oswald, and looked more annoyed than horrified as he quickly started to put his pants on.

“You have to leave, fast and quiet. We’re lucky no one’s come looking for me already.”

“You let your people wake you up?” Jim asked, and Oswald noted that he’d not bothered to put his underwear on. Again. He’d probably leave it. Again.

“If it’s this late they’d do well to worry I died in my sleep!” Oswald ran a stressed hand through his hair. Jim couldn’t get dressed fast enough. So far he’d managed to keep this a complete secret from any of his men. He didn’t need their insinuations and input or worse, the rumors spreading, which would likely be worse for Jim than him. He’d known from the beginning the chance that Jim would get cold feet if people found out. That would be the end, and yet Jim still wasn’t gone yet!

“Oswald,” Jim said as he stood. “Can we meet again tomorrow?”

Oswald stared at him in disbelief because all he could focus on was how much he needed him gone, and now... ugh.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, I meant to last night, but—”

“Yes, yes!” Oswald nodded and agreed as he ushered Jim, half-dressed, toward the door. “Be careful leaving, make sure no one sees you!”

“How am I supposed to—“

“Just, go, Jim!” Oswald hissed, and before Jim knew it Oswald had shoved him out and shut the door behind him. Oswald fell against it, panic settling as he seemed to avoid the possibility of someone walking in on them. As it settled he realized two things. That he was still naked, and that he’d agreed to see Jim again the next night.

Two in a row had never happened, and god, he was busy. But in the name of the sore parts of him that weren’t his shoulder nor his leg, he was sure as hell going to try not to cancel.

o-o-o-o

_‘I’m sorry, but I can’t see you tomorrow night. Something’s come up._

Jim got the text and sighed hard in his office. He thought this might happen, especially given that he’d heard from one of his men in passing that Penguin was on the move again. The text at least meant that Oswald was still alive after whatever he’d gone off to do, so he couldn’t be too disappointed. Still, he had a lot on his mind. A lot to say to him, and he didn’t know when he’d get to.

But, he shouldn’t have chickened out the last time, and here were the consequences.

 _‘Let me know when.’_ Jim replied, and from there on out, it was waiting.

o-o-o-o

“What is it?” Oswald’s voice shook, demanded in a panic when she returned. The underground physician sighed, and took a deep breath.

“There’s nothing abnormal in your blood stream— at least, not anymore,” she said.

Oswald raised a hand to the injection hole on the side of his neck, breath picking up when he once again felt how large it was, remembered the size of the needle when the syringe was dropped.

“Whatever it was either failed, or…” she stopped, nervously.

“Or what?” Oswald demanded, spitting the words like a threat.

“…or it already did its job,” she finished, looking on with some concern. “I recommend you stay the night, just in case.”

“No,” Oswald refused, simply. It wasn’t safe or secure here. The woman sighed with acceptance, and changed her tune.

“You’ll want to keep in touch,” she said. “Call immediately if you experience any abnormalities— anything at all. Have someone else keep an eye on your behavior at least for the next twenty-four hours, in case you pass out.”

Oswald opened his mouth to protest— he didn’t have anyone he trusted enough to do that— but then closed it.

Jim?

No, no, definitely not. That wasn’t what they were and this wasn’t Jim’s problem. He’d have to stay awake, pay someone overtime, Zsasz maybe. He didn’t want to, wished he could have ignored it, but if it was poison then even he knew it was too much of a risk to be left alone.

His fingers were still rubbing against the hole in his neck— the mark, the small puncture… his brow furrowed and he moved his hand around against his smooth skin to be sure. He couldn’t feel it anymore.

“Mr. Cobblepot, are you all right?”

When Oswald looked up to her again, his vision was as if he were under water. He opened his mouth to comment, complain, alert her to the fact, but then it all went black.


	2. Backing Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys might notice that originally i had this as a series with 2 parts, but that was just because I thought it worked better with my plans for part titles and I changed my mind. So this is now a single piece with two chapters rather than a series. As you can see.
> 
> Remember when I said the second part was shorter? Well now it's longer and. That's why it took so long. Sorry.
> 
> Anyway that's all I wanted to mention. Here we go.

Two weeks.

That’s how long it took Oswald to get back to Jim. They were a busy two weeks, sure, but Jim didn’t get through a day, some days no more than a few hours without checking his phone. And the longer it took, the more he reconsidered saying anything at all, discussing anything at all.

But they both knew this couldn’t go on like it had been forever. One of them had to cave. Two weeks ago Jim had been ready to be the one to do so— almost certain he had to be. But now… well, he just had to wonder what Oswald was so damn busy with that he hadn’t been even a little eager to see him. Maybe he was bored of it.

The reply was odd, too. _‘Where do you want to meet?’_ it said, and Jim furrowed his brow at the words. Jim always came to Oswald’s home on nights he wasn’t at his club. If he had to work, they didn’t meet. It was simple, and the most discreet method. So why was he asking where?

 _‘Your place.’_ Jim clarified, and was surprised yet again to receive a text confirming, once again like it wasn’t the obvious choice.

_‘If you insist, then tonight is fine.’_

Jim was now further concerned about the state of their relationship. Was Oswald cutting him off? Was he going to start pretending it never happened?

Fine, whatever. That was fine. Jim would sure as hell confront him about it but if that was the way he wanted to play it, wanted to end it, then Jim didn’t have much room to protest or criticize. He knew that. He had to accept it and move on.

_What had he done wrong?_

He closed his phone and then his eyes, taking a deep breath before returning his attention to the paperwork in front of him. 

o-o-o-o-o

 _‘I’m here.’_ Jim sent the usual text that would prompt Oswald to open the door, let him in, let it begin.

 _‘Zsasz will show you in.’_ Is what he got in reply, and that’s when Jim’s mind went off the deep end.

“Zsasz?” He said allowed to himself in a low growl. Oswald really was going to play it like none of it had ever happened. By the looks of things he was even refusing to see Jim one-on-one and that _really_ pissed him off. Still, Jim had his ways, and he could get Oswald alone to confront him if he wanted to.

Zsasz answered the door with a smile Jim was far too familiar with, given the numerous times the man had tried to kill him and had too much fun doing it.

“Jim Gordon, come on in,” his tone was overly friendly and Jim sighed harshly as he passed him to step inside.

“The boss’ll see you now,” Zsasz said, gesturing in the direction of Oswald’s office. Well, he didn’t know Jim knew it lead to Oswald’s office, so Jim had no choice but to let him lead.

Zsasz stopped him outside the door. “I have to warn you, he’s been kind of off lately. If he acts funny or… says anything weird, don’t overthink it. He’s just not feeling so great,” Zsasz was looking at him far too pointedly, and Jim stared back at him with confusion.

“He’s just a little forgetful, I think,” Zsasz added, then pursed his lips like he hadn’t quite meant to say what he just said. He then busied himself opening the door, revealing Oswald dressed to the nines and sitting behind his desk.

Jim noticed immediately that his hair was changed again, similar to how it had been two— three years ago? When he’d first taken over the underworld after Falcone.

“Jim! What a pleasant surprise, what can I do for you this time?”

 _This time?_ Was that some kind of accusation? A reference? A joke? Jim was becoming more and more confused and frustrated, and was starting to wish he hadn’t come.

“I want to talk to you alone,” he said, plainly and immediately. Oswald studied him for a few moments, and then his eyes shifted to Zsasz.

“Victor,” Oswald said, simply, and Zsasz nodded, eyeing Jim with some form of threat before he left the room.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Jim barked, immediately after he stopped hearing Zsasz’s footsteps in the hallway. “What took so long to get back to me? Why are you acting this way?”

Oswald’s eyes were wide, and he looked visibly confused or… panicked?

“What way?” He said, laughing nervously and shifting uncomfortably. Jim remembered that Zsasz had said he was feeling off, but that didn’t really explain him playing complete idiot.

“Look,” Jim said, simply, “if this is your way of saying it’s over, then fine. That’s fine. I’ll go.”

Oswald stared at him. “Uh…” he started, and then finally gathered himself and said. “Yes, by all means.” He presented the door with his hands. “Please go. I’m very busy.”

Now Jim had transcended rage and landed in a place of befuddlement that quickly lead to suspicion. He’d been in enough interrogation rooms to read just how off Oswald’s behavior was for someone being confronted with something personal. Moreover, he knew Oswald quite a bit better than Oswald likely counted on, and Zsasz was right. Something was way, way off.

“Are you okay?” Jim tried, softly, because if something had happened to Oswald, something serious— well, there was always compassion.

Sure enough, Oswald looked up at him from his desk once again with surprise but also sincerity in his wide eyes.

“What happened, Oswald?” He took a few more steps into the room. “You seem different.” _It’s me, just tell me._

He watched Oswald’s face turn back into panic as his eyes shifted away from Jim’s gaze, around to things on his desk as if searching for something that would give him a made-up answer. Finally, he sighed, a preface that all but assured Jim whatever he said next would be the truth.

“I…” Oswald started, “…actually, seem to have come down with a mild case of amnesia,” he said, and Jim’s eyes widened.

_He’s just a little forgetful, I think._

“Nothing serious, the doctors say, and I should be back to myself in a few days, just…”

“How much?” Jim said, stepping a little further into the room.

“What?”

“How much don’t you remember?” Jim asked.

Oswald furrowed his brow. “Well, I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Jim Gordon. Unless we became actual friends in the last three years I—,”

“Three years?”

Oswald’s face made it clear that he was currently mentally shoving his own foot all the way down his throat.

“You don’t remember the last three years?” Jim demanded confirmation, and the expression on Oswald’s face gave it to him. “Why did you tell me to meet you, then? What did you think…” he trailed off, not wanting to reveal the truth, on the off chance Oswald hadn’t figured it out.

“There were a lot of texts in my phone from you about meeting up, quite frequently. I assumed we had some kind of… arrangement,” Oswald sighed. “I was hoping to avoid you suspecting anything, or finding out the truth,” he admitted.

“That you’re lost? Confused about what’s changed? That you’re weak?” Jim offered, and Oswald scowled.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He spat, a clear threat. “I’m still the same man, and I know how to run this city.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jim seemed to almost entirely disregard it, simply nodding and looking Oswald in the eye. Oswald’s expression changed to something surprised once again, and just stared back at him. 

“You said you’ll get your memory back in a few days?” Jim asked.

Oswald nodded.

“Good,” Jim nodded back. “Text me when that happens,” he started to leave the room, a hasty retreat because this was way too much.

“Jim!” Oswald called to stop him, and Jim thought about ignoring it, but his legs stopped moving outside his own accord.

“I must admit I’ve been curious. What have we been meeting about for the past few months? The texts never say.”

Jim could tell he was dying to know, and maybe this Oswald had some guess, or some idea, and maybe it wouldn’t be that far off and Jim absolutely could not have that.

“You’ll find out in a few days,” he said, simply, and then he left.

o-o-o-o

Sure enough, it was a few days later that Oswald texted him saying he wanted to meet. As soon as he got the text Jim got it into his head that Oswald’s memory had returned. That was, until Oswald insisted they meet at the GCPD right away rather than at one of their homes later. Obviously that was far from the ideal place for anything under-the-table.

When Oswald actually showed up, standing in the doorway after Harper announced him with some reluctance, Jim knew nothing had changed. His hair was the same— the same way it had been three years ago and the same way it was when Jim had met with him three days ago. Jim remembered that phase well.

“Oswald,” Jim greeted, formally, and his mouth felt strange saying it that way. 

“What is it?” He asked, if only just in attempt to sound more casual and less like he was wearing some new mask.

Oswald stood still after having stepped in and closed the door behind him, hovering with a sort of curious or maybe even sad shine in his eye as his eyes studied Jim from across the room. Jim studied him back, stuck on his face, the mild physical changes that reminded him only Oswald’s mind had gone back in time. Then his eyes finally travelled to that thing in his peripheral, that thing in Oswald’s hand.

It was a crumpled peace of a fabric with some of it hanging down— a sleeve, perhaps?

“What’s that?” Jim asked as Oswald walked closer, but he knew the answer by the time he got the words out. He tensed as now the look on Oswald’s face as he tried to read him made complete sense.

“Is this your shirt?” Oswald finally raised the shirt and the question, dropping it on Jim’s desk with an outstretched arm. Jim’s eyes shifted up to him from it.

-

_Oswald found them in his drawer, folded neatly among the others as if they were his— clearly his housemaid believed they were his. But aside from the fact that they were far below the quality of anything he’d spend so much as a dime on, they weren’t his size._

_He remembered the blazer he’d found in his closet earlier in the week when looking for something to wear. An overflowing supply of well-kept suit-jackets on hanger that further asserted the evidence that he was, at least, still rich. He remembered thinking future him must’ve been doing well, and that— of course he was. That’s why when he found a grey, only semi-formal blazer looking uncleaned— not even cashmere— he’d simply snuffed and shoved it aside._

_His feet carried him to the closet as quickly as they could move and he sifted through the hangers until he found it. It was tucked away at the side of the closet like a secret, so he looked over his shoulder to make sure he was alone. Then he cursed himself, of course he was alone, she was gone._

_He closed his eyes tightly an shook the thought of her away with the help of the pressing matter in front of him. He yanked the blazer from the closet and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair, scanning it with his eyes. Certainly, it wasn’t tailored to his size— it looked to be a pre-made size, and at least one too large to be anything he could have worn even when he was less well-off._

_He stared at for a long while, gears of his mind turning as the first thing he did was try and ward off the obvious with other possibilities. It belonged to one of his men, he’d taken it off someone he killed that had meaning to him. The first one was absurd, as no one else would dare touch his wardrobe let alone use it for storage. The second wasn’t unlikely but the jacket was clearly not cleaned. It smelled like old cologne, like it had been worn more than just a few times without being washed before it ended up here. If he’d killed someone who was wearing it, wouldn’t it have blood on it? He wasn’t exactly built for squeezing the life out of someone by their throat._

_Perhaps he’d taken it from someone still alive, but why? He’d never done something like that before. And there was the too-large underwear in his drawer that had lead him here in the first place._

_Did he… could he possibly? Have a…?_

-

“What you said the first time we met after I lost my memory, the texts about a dozen secret meetings every month in my phone…” he laughed at the ground at the thought of having not realized it sooner. “My bed smelled like you when I first came-to, even if I couldn’t place it at the time…”

“Oswald…”

“Tell me the truth.”

“There’s not much to say,” Jim barely mumbled.

“This is something, Jim!” Oswald snatched and held up the crumpled shirt in a tight fist as he shouted. “I need to know what!”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Jim said, voice only a harsh whisper. He could feel Oswald’s eyes on him, studying him, reading him and trying to find further confirmation for what he already knew.

Moments passed until Oswald’s demeanor softened, he started to move closer, around the desk, and Jim had to assume he’d found what revelation he was looking for. Jim kept his eyes away, only watching Oswald from his peripheral, the fingertips that slid along the edge of his desk like a tether as he approached.

“Why?” Oswald’s voice was barely a whisper, and he was already too close. “Why can’t it matter? You must know about me. That I…” Oswald reached for Jim’s hand on his desk but Jim pulled it away.

“You don’t remember,” Jim said, trying to remain calm and refusing to meet his eyes. “You don’t remember the things we’ve been through— _you’ve_ been through, that I — you have no idea.” His voice softened with each word he spoke, until the end spilled out like an apology.

Oswald stood, speechless, like he wanted to protest but no words would come.

“You don’t know who I am,” Jim said, looking Oswald square in his eyes in hopes the words would reach him, because they mattered. Jim had never been surer of anything, this mattered. And it made everything he wanted in that moment impossible.

“But you know who I am— who I was, before or… later on…” Oswald confused himself as he spoke. “I’m the one who went back in time but you… I need to know. Who was I to you?” his voice was too soft, too heartbreakingly hopeful, his eyes too longing.

“It’s different,” Jim said, dodging the question but meeting those eyes, only to look away as he swallowed hard.

“It can’t go on when things are like this,” Jim said, and he knew, because his Oswald didn’t look at him like that. Like he was still the world, still something that could save him. His Oswald looked at him like something he’d already lost and didn't want to want, but kept coming back for anyway. His Oswald knew him, that he wasn’t a light in the darkness or anything close to it.

“Were we lovers?” Oswald’s voice came in a whisper, and Jim’s eyes tripled in size. No question, this was a different man.

Jim’s eyes stayed fixed on him, arm hanging almost dejectedly at his side as it clutched Jim’s ruined shirt. He could have been more specific, could have explained the complexity of their relationship, he could have said any number of less damning things, _“not exactly.” “it wasn’t like that.” “no.”_

“Yes,” is what he said instead. He watched Oswald’s eyes light up and become wet at the same time, watched him take a deep breath to try and maintain his composure, but it shook like the rest of him. Something like a smile graced Oswald’s lips for mere seconds before it disappeared and was overtaken by something sad.

“Please tell me,” Oswald’s voice cracked into something like begging. “Tell me how— what happened. What changed? How did I—,”

“Oswald,” Jim interrupted, “please.”

Oswald stopped, finally, on request.

“It’s too complicated.”

“Kiss me,” Oswald’s words came on a breath not a moment later, and Jim was once again taken off guard by the boldness. His heart pounded in his chest, and not just at the thought of doing as he asked. He couldn’t help feeling like he was mourning something he lost, but another part of him was mourning the loss of the man in front of him. The terrible things that had happened to turn him into the man Jim knew— had, more intimately, known.

“No,” Jim said, firmly. He had to. “Please, go ho—“

“I lied!” Oswald interrupted, taking a step forward so that now he was apart of Jim’s space. “No one knows when I’ll get my memory back. The doctor said I might never, that it happens that way sometimes in cases like these.” Jim watched him shrink at the sound of his own words, watched him shake.

“No one even knows how I lost them.” Oswald said, forcing a smile, like he was trying to laugh over it. “The men that were supposedly with me when it happened are dead, the doctor I saw afterward, I guess, is dead. There’s a bump so I’ve been told I probably hit my head in a fight but that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” Oswald sucked in a breath, and it stuttered on snot and tears that were starting to turn his eyes red.

“So now I have some enemy out there trying to destroy me but I know nothing about them, and for all I know they did this to me on purpose to make it easy. _My mother is dead._ ” The words came in a slur amidst the rest of his rant and Jim felt a pang, almost a pain in his heart at the sight of Oswald falling apart over her again. _Flashbacks of the first time, the shotgun and how much it took not to let Oswald do what he wanted and end it._

“Zsasz said I got my revenge for her but I spent the last weak mourning her, apparently for the second time, and I still can’t believe it. That… forensic… weirdo from the GCPD keeps coming around because I guess I’m supposed to know him now but he won’t tell me anything about our relationship and just asks riddles that lead to more riddles…” he was gathering himself once again, and Jim was glad, because another moment of watching him fall apart and he would have crossed the space between them and hugged him, held him close until he stopped, until he was okay again. And there was no telling where that could have lead.

“I killed Gabe… something about Falcone’s daughter, and my father. Zsasz has told me some things but he gets bored, and doesn’t even seem to know that much and…” he trailed off, mouth open and shaking as he tried to find the right words, “Nothing made any sense, it feels like I’m in hell and I still have to act like the King of Gotham or I’ll lose it. It’s overwhelming… and then I found your shirt at the back of my drawer…” he held it up again.

“This is all I have, Jim,” he said, squeezing it tightly as he begged. “The only thing I found out about my life that’s better instead of worse.”

Time passed. Too much time, in which Oswald stood dejectedly, too quietly for who he was. He waited for Jim to speak or move, but Jim had found himself damn near destroyed. He wanted to fix it. It wanted to fix all of it, be whatever Oswald needed to get through this and give him everything he wanted. It hit him hard and took him off guard how much he hated seeing Oswald like this. And now he was begging for help, so clearly believed Jim was the only one who _could_ help. 

He would have. For the first time, he knew he would have done that for Oswald three weeks ago, would have wanted to. When had that happened?

But Oswald didn’t know him anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he forced out, soft as he could, and it was all he could do.

More time passed, though less than before, until Oswald straightened himself. Gathered himself together like he hadn’t been about to break into pieces, like he wasn’t likely going to leave here and immediately fall apart.

“All right,” Oswald said. He lifted his hand weakly, holding out the fistful of fabric, and opened it. The shirt fell to Jim’s desk, crinkled and ruined, and Oswald left while Jim was looking at it. The door clicked shut before Jim knew he’d stepped through it, and he was gone.

o-o-o-o

Oswald was trying not to count the seconds until he finally found himself some alone time. How long before his phone rang, before someone came around asking for money, or one of his loans went awry? For two days he’d spent any down time he found studying the books, trying to get a grasp on what sort of dealings he’d had and the details of more prominent ones.

But right now he just wanted peace, to forget. As much as he told himself the loss of his mother was a far off thing now, for obvious reasons he couldn’t make it feel that way. Worse, there was nothing he could do. It had been him, of course it had been him, but it felt like some unknown, different version of him had been the one to resolve things with her death, see her rest in peace.

He felt like a stranger in his own life and if his occupation wasn’t already exhausting—

He closed his eyes softly, then tightly at the sound of his phone vibrating as it rang. He wanted to ignore it, he wasn’t done wallowing in his misery, that was for damn sure. Weakly, he reached out, and turned it over so he could see the name of his caller.

_Jim._

Thank god it wasn’t important. He hit the ignore button and sat back, frowning and nibbling at his lip. Three years was a long time, he knew that, and how quickly things could change. With Jim Gordon, he’d been counting on it, but this? This he didn’t foresee. It was too personal, too vulnerable, and it was certainly somewhere amidst his desires but he should have known better. A cop? _That_ cop?

Jim said Oswald didn’t know him, and he was right. He had no idea how they’d ended up that way, this way, like everything was the same except they were seeing each other under the table. Like he was Jim’s dirty little secret— and maybe Jim was his, too. Was that the kind of man he was, now?

His phone started to ring again and he sighed. He didn’t want to think it would have been nice. His moment of weakness in Jim’s office— he wanted it, whatever it was. So perhaps he hadn’t changed so much after all. But now he had an excuse. Maybe he didn’t need Jim in whatever way he had him before, didn’t need him to be someone he could trust. Maybe Jim was right, that he couldn’t trust him. But he sure as hell wanted him to fuck him into a mattress until he forgot how screwed up everything was.

“Hello?” He ground out into the receiver after having picked up the phone on the third buzz, just before it would have gone to voicemail.

“Oswald.” The voice on the other end alerted Oswald to the fact that he hadn’t looked at the name this time. It wasn’t Jim.

“Edward…” this wasn’t his favorite call to receive either, as this man was an even bigger mystery than Jim Gordon and seemed to take an even more personal interest in his loss of memory. He kept saying he could figure it out and fix it, _leave it to me_ , but Oswald didn’t have any reason to have faith in him considering he wouldn’t tell Oswald who the hell he was. To Gotham he was "the Riddler"- _gag_ , sure, but to Oswald?

 _A friend_ , some of his men said, _it’s complicated, an old rival_ he got from others. Complicated, sure. It always was in this business. No one had an actual story. Some of them seemed like maybe they knew a story but refused to tell it, and normally he’d just off them for that but he couldn’t prove it and he thought maybe they’d come around.

Whoever he and whatever his capabilities he talked to Oswald like he knew him and wasn’t afraid of him, and Oswald needed that from someone, at least.

“I’m at the warehouse where your men died the day before you lost your memories.”

Oswald sighed heavily. He’d already had that place thoroughly searched for evidence because _of course he had._

“Why?”

“There’s blood everywhere, it looks like some kind of massacre. No bodies, but I can tell where each of them died, and get a good idea of how many.”

“Yes, I’m the only one who made it back alive and now I’m like this which means someone did this intentionally. I’ve gotten that far. You still haven’t told me why you’re there.”

“Because it’s weird,” Ed said, too plainly, and Oswald wanted to groan.

“What’s weird?”

“You,” Ed said, and then some scraping sound came through the phone like he was moving something heavy. “Not remembering anything. Don’t like it, creeps me out. I was thinking maybe I could solve it.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “By yourself?”

“Maybe you could pay me?” his tone sounded mostly humorous but also absurdly confident. Oswald hoped he wasn’t just tooting his own horn and actually might come up with something, but he wasn’t about to get his hopes up.

“If you find out who did this, I will most certainly pay you for that information,” Oswald said, and it really should have been obvious thought he wasn’t sure if the man was even serious about asking. “Until then I—,” he cut himself off when his phone beeped like he was getting another call.

He pulled it back and looked at the name even though he could hear Ed talking on the other end. He didn’t catch most of what was said, but it was Jim again.

“…on the ground here by the door. Probably nothing,” was all Oswald caught of what Ed was saying.

“By all means, call me if you discover something,” Oswald said, “…whoever you are.”

“See? Like I said. Weird.” Ed replied, and then as Oswald opened his mouth to speak he heard a click and then a dial tone. He sighed hard, and closed his phone, about to drop it before he noticed a small icon on the front screen that alerted him to a voicemail.

He stared at the phone, at the play button next to Jim’s phone number. Hearing his voice would be hard. It’s why he didn’t pick up in the first place. But…

…he hit play before he’d fully thought it through.

“Oswald,” Jim cleared his throat, “We don’t have to talk, but I’m calling to ask you to keep me informed if you come up with any leads as to what happened. This city needs someone strong at the head of the underworld, and I’d rather it be you. If there’s any chance you can get your memory back, I’m willing to help.”

Oswald threw the phone at the plush chair across from his desk, watched it bounce and land on the cushion. He jammed his palms against his eyes and started to rub at them. He didn’t know what Jim really wanted. But he suspected his mind from the present would, rather than the one stuck three years in the past. Maybe Jim just wanted him back— back the way he was, and back in whatever they had.

He couldn’t believe he _had_ Jim. And what a stupid way to lose him!

o-o-o-o

Oswald was staring at the empty seat across from him as Olga set his dinner in front of him. _Olga._ Whoever that was. She was fine, though, and didn’t behave like one of his men in that she seemed to take care in his welfare. Perhaps it was only the pay driving her, but there was certainly something soft there. Maybe…

“Did you know Detective Gordon?” Oswald asked. He didn’t speak to her much. She didn’t know English very well— was just learning it, and didn’t seem to like to converse in it. That was fine, but right now he couldn’t help asking.

Her reaction was very slight, but Oswald could see her eyes narrow as she folded his napkin and set his fork on top of it.

“Did he visit often?” Oswald asked.

She scoffed, shaking her head, more open about her distaste now.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, wondering specifically if she had something against two men being in a relationship, but that wouldn’t have been sensible. Oswald wouldn’t have kept her around, he was confident of that even if it was a future version of himself.

She sighed heavily, and leaned over the table, looking at him meaningfully. “He came at night, thought he was being sneaky. Always for…” she stopped, pursing her lips, “…sex.” she hissed out.

Oswald stared at her. Of course if Jim confirmed they were ‘in love’ he assumed that was among the activities, but…

She leaned closer to him. “Don’t make the same mistake you did before. You could do better. There is a very kind, wealthy man who lives—”

“How often?” Oswald interrupted, urgently, not hearing the last things she’s said.

She frowned at him, then sighed. “Once in a while at first, then two or three times a week.” 

Two or three times a week. Jim came to him for sex _two or three times a week._ With a busy schedule like the GCPD’s captain no-doubt was, that was awfully frequent, even if they were in a relationship. Jim also initiated most of their meet-ups via text according to the records Oswald had. 

“Did we do anything else? Eat together here? Go out?”

Olga shook her head warily, eyes shifting with some nervousness. “Always in your room or office with the door shut, sometimes all night and leaving in the early morning.”

Oswald bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. That was something.

“Were you supposed to know about this?” He asked, pointedly, almost threateningly.

“The man has no gift for stealth, I would have noticed even if I tried not to,” she said, still seeming nervous, clearly worried he’d be angry with her just for knowing. Good, because he was trying to come off that way but he was glad— glad someone knew something. Later he’d have to ask her about that Edward Nygma.

“Thank you for being honest,” he said, then looked down at the table as a little grin graced his lips.

o-o-o-o

He wasn’t busy. Maybe he should have been, but he’d spent too many days holed up trying to maintain his stature, sending men off on wild goose chases pretending anything at all might be a lead to retrieval his memories. He may not have been the same man he was a week ago, but he was the man he was three years ago. A man he knew well, and like any man, he couldn’t get by just working. Certainly he couldn’t get by all by himself.

He found a photo of himself in front of a red ribbon at the opening of his new club. It was the most recent photo he could find, almost a year ago, but it would have to do. He modeled his hair after the photo, put on one of his newer suits— one of the ones he didn’t recognize at all, and set out.

o-o-o

Harvey knocked on the doorframe and Jim grunted in question.

“There’s bird here to see you,” he said, “…not the good kind of bird.”

Jim looked up to see Harvey step aside, revealing Oswald, who was smiling. That wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was strange considering how broken he seemed the last time.

“Oswald,” Jim said, eyes widening. They shifted to Harvey. “Thanks, I’ll handle it.” He nodded Harvey off, knowing he couldn’t mention Oswald’s missing memory in front of Harvey. Oswald stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

“Are you okay?” Jim stepped out from behind his desk. “Is your memory back?”

For a moment Oswald considered faking it, telling Jim that yes, it was, and letting whatever would have transpired do just that. But that wasn’t his plan, and there were too many ways it could go wrong.

“No,” he said on a sigh, and Jim’s shoulders slumped before Oswald even realized he’d perked up.

“Oh,” Jim said, trying to sound neutral, quite clearly, “What is it, then?”

Oswald stared at him, lost for words, suddenly faced with the fact that this was going to be a lot harder than he’d hoped. He glanced around the room, noting that every set of blinds on the windows was shut except one, and it lead down to the city streets rather than to the main hall of the GCPD where anyone could look in from. Even the glass door had blinds, and they were closed too.

Oswald had to wonder why Jim liked his privacy so much. But then, he didn’t seem to keep his door locked.

“I thought things ended rather badly last time,” Oswald said, clasping his hands casually behind his back. He leaned backward until his hands found the handle, and locked the door slowly and quietly. “I wanted to assure you that I’m perfectly okay. Adapting quite well, in fact,” he nodded, lips twitching.

Jim sighed. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

Oswald frowned.

Jim looked down as he walked around to the front of his desk, then he leaned against it and raised his eyes to meet Oswald’s. They were full of sympathy and sincerity and it drove Oswald’s heart wild like a bird flitting around that Oswald was in his own mind currently trying to shoot down.

“What?” he managed to ask.

“That,” he said, nodding toward Oswald, “act like you have this all under control. Not with me. I’m not going to tell anyone or come after you because you’re weak.”

Oswald shook as he stared, wondering just how much of a fool his future self had been. How much weakness had he shown this man that he could simply see it on him? His mother was the only person he could trust that way, the only one who should ever say anything like that to him.

It should have made Oswald want to kill him but it made him want to do something else.

“I told you in the voicemail, you’re the least worst option to keep the underworld in line,” Jim explained, and Oswald almost laughed, remembering that in his timeline, Jim had told Falcone the same thing only a month or so ago.

“I appreciate the concern, Jim,” Oswald gathered himself, “but that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” Jim said, and Oswald couldn’t tell if he believed it or not. “Is that all you came for?”

“No,” Oswald said, shaking his head and suddenly crossing the room, stepping up directly next to Jim and leaning his cane against the desk. “Wow, it’s hot in here. How do you live like this?” He unbuttoned his jacket with ease and slipped it off, hanging it over the corner of the desk at a clear spot. He could feel Jim’s eyes on him.

“Ed’s looking into the whole memory loss thing. Thought you should know I might take you up on your offer,” he said, and now he was unbuttoning his vest.

“You could have just called,” Jim said, Oswald could feel his eyes burning into him as he moved his hands up and undid the button on his collar, glad this outfit didn’t require a tie.

“I suppose,” Oswald said, tugging at his collar as if he were still hot and trying to free his neck, but the only heat he felt was from Jim’s eyes burning into him, watching every movement. Oswald wondered if Jim wanted Oswald’s hands to be his own, what he would do with them, what he liked. Future Oswald knew all of that, and he wanted to know too, damn it.

“But perhaps that’s not all,” Oswald’s eyes flicked up to meet Jim’s, but Jim’s had yet to tear themselves away from the newly exposed skin just behind his collar. He was frowning, and his entire demeanor appeared delectably weakened.

Oswald lifted a hand, and placed it on Jim’s knee as Jim leaned against the desk. Jim didn’t move or say anything.

“Maybe there’s another reason I’m here…” Oswald said, eyes shifting down to where his hand was, mind imploding as he tried to keep his wits about him in spite of everything he was doing. He’s never done anything like this before and he was only about seventy percent sure it was even working. But that had to be enough.

His hand moved on its own, up Jim’s thigh until he forgot this was a mission and his mouth fell open at how high Jim was allowing his fingers to travel. Of course, _of course_ they’d done all this and more but this was the first time for him and it—

Just before Oswald was sure he wouldn’t be able to resist putting his hand in the most damning places, Jim caught it at the wrist.

“You should go,” Jim said, worse plain but tone deep. “I already explained why this can’t happen.”

“Just fuck me, Jim,” Oswald whispered, eyes flicking up to watch Jim’s triple in size, his fingers weakening around Oswald’s wrist. His whole body seemed like it was faltering, relaxing, running away from his inhibitions.

Oswald freed his hand with ease, and carefully placed it back on Jim’s upper thigh, squeezing, “…it doesn’t have to be more.”

Jim just watched him, face the picture of inner turmoil as Oswald moved it up further, greedy fingertips brushing the crotch of his pants and before he could stop himself he moaned. He actually moaned.

It made him hesitate, the sound of his own voice that needy just at feeling the other man under his fingers. But it seemed to incapacitate Jim even further, as when Oswald looked at him his eyes were sealed shut and he was swallowing hard, hand gripping tightly to the edge of the desk.

“Jim?” Oswald whispered. _Give in,_ he looked so much like he wanted to touch Oswald and Oswald wanted his hands on him so badly it hurt, _just give in._

Moments of stillness passed wherein all Oswald could do was stare at Jim’s face with begging eyes. He couldn’t go any further without asking, without a return or confirmation. He needed—

“No,” Jim said, suddenly in complete control as he moved away, and walked back around to the other side of his desk. Oswald hated it and didn’t understand it and felt like he had to stop himself from outright crying because it felt like his heart was breaking.

“No, Oswald. And please don’t bring it up again.”

o-o-o-o

He didn’t bring it up again.

After all, there was nothing more he could do. Seduction failed, a plea for sympathy had failed. He understood what Jim meant when he said it was different, but he wished he could have convinced Jim to just tell him. Tell him everything. He’d listen all night if he had to, and he knew no matter what Jim said he’d done or what they’d gone through, the ways they’d fought each other, that he’d still love him in the morning.

But try as he might, he couldn’t deny the fact that if the tables were turned, he’d be the same way.

Or perhaps not, perhaps he’d greedily take whatever he wanted regardless of the consequences. Perhaps he’d be too blinded by his desires to consider the dishonesty the way Jim was. He wasn’t a good man like Jim was.

Too much thought and too many days growing tired of thinking lead him to the idea that perhaps, Jim just didn’t want him anymore. Maybe he’d wanted to end it back then and didn’t know how. Maybe he saw this as a way out. 

Maybe that’s why they hadn’t so much as spoken in almost a month. A whole month, and Oswald still couldn’t remember a damn thing.

o-o-o-o

Jim busied himself plenty— or more, Gotham saw to it that he was plenty busy. It was hard to imagine how he’d ever had or made time for relationships or the like given this job. But he had, so many times, and so many times he’d fucked them up. Perhaps it was best he hadn’t yet gotten a chance to fuck it up with Oswald. That had the obvious potential to be the worst ending of all. This wasn’t what he wanted, but it may have been for the best.

So he worked, and bullshitted with Harvey, and drank, slept on occasion and then worked some more. Part of him was certain women had ceased to exist outside of those he already knew as he never ever saw any younger than fifty and older than eighteen. That made getting laid out of the question as every man he met was married or mourning or a scumbag— not that that stopped him on one specific occasion, but he usually had standards.

So he worked. Sometimes he dreamed of his hands around slim, naked hips that bucked and tried to rub up against him, his fingers in jet-black hair that he was long past bothering to pretend belonged to Lee Thompkins. That voice in his head that he couldn’t get out but was sure he didn’t want to. It was torture, but the sick side of him that he’d long since accepted loved it. So it happened, and then he woke up, and there was work again.

Today work just happened to consist of overtime in the form of news of a shootout at an abandoned department store in the narrows. Some injured, others dead, probably some piss-poor motive like drugs or money.

The place looked empty when they first walked in. Reports from witnesses had specified bodies, but as Jim moved his flashlight over the whole of the room, all he could find was splattered blood.

“Looks like Penguin’s clean-up has already been through here,” Harvey said. “Maybe we should pay him a visit?”

Jim considered. “We don’t know it was Penguin,” he argued.

“Come on. Who else do you know that has any reason to have a massive firefight with automatic weapons and can get rid of the evidence this fast?”

Jim only heard half of what Harvey said as he saw movement under his light at the far end of the room.

“If you’re right, looks like he missed one,” Jim started in a jog over to where what appeared to be a man was leaned against the inside of what may have at one point been a bathroom stall.

When Jim came around to the front and shined his light on the man it was no surprise that he closed his eyes tight and raised his hand. He was unfamiliar, looked like any run-of-the-mill hired gun. More importantly, he’d been shot in the upper arm and thigh.

“Call an ambulance,” Jim said to Harvey who’d been just behind him. Harvey passed off the task to Harper who immediately agreed and moved to obey. 

“GCPD,” Jim kneeled in front of the man, “can you tell us what happened here?”

The man appeared exhausted, maybe a little irritated.

“Penguin, man.” The guy said, and Jim heard an ‘i told you so’ from Harvey behind him before he continued. “My jackass of a boss tried double-crossing him on a deal. Penguin found out and Victor Zsasz filled the boss with bullets. Only a few of us got away.”

Jim sighed, rolling his eyes. This was typical, to say the least. And he couldn’t help but think Penguin, at least not the one he knew two months ago, wouldn’t have been so sloppy. Oswald had always been good at what he did, and Jim rarely found anything with his name clearly written on it even when he first took over. But he had gotten better over the years, and now that he’d mentally gone back in time even Gotham itself was suffering for it.

The man’s face warped into a sinister grin. “I shot him, though,” he said, laughing. “Didn’t even see who it was, and they didn’t see me hide. I shot the little creep as they were leaving—,”

Jim didn’t know why, or he did know why but didn’t know why he failed to stop himself. He punched the man in the nose. Hard, so that he felt the cartilage crack and his fist came back with blood on it.

“Jim, what the hell!”

“You shot him?” Jim ignored Harvey and leaned closer to the man, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head back. “Where?”

“Owe! The back, man, I don’t know, somewhere in his back!” The man shouted as he bled from his nose into his mouth. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, my crew’s dead! Just tell me I’ll get a shorter sentence!”Jim scoffed, and yanked his hand away from the man to stand back up.

“Bring him in,” Jim said, and when Harvey didn’t oblige, a man behind him stepped up with handcuffs to do so.

“You going to see Penguin?” Harvey asked.

“No,” Jim forced out. “This is standard mob activity and he’s not going to talk. As far as we know no innocent bystanders got hurt and at least we know whatever it was, it’s over.”

He walked away from Harvey to another one of his men. “Can I borrow your phone?” He asked. The guy was a rookie and looked confused but seemed happy to oblige, and fished it out of his pocket to hand off.

Jim took it, and dialed Oswald’s personal number, surprised he remembered it as it came to him with ease. It rang once, then twice, it kept ringing.

Maybe Oswald wasn’t picking up for an unknown number, but it didn’t seem likely. How often does someone dial the wrong number and get the kingpin of the fucking underworld? Jim just needed to hear his voice for a second and know he was alive!

“Pick up the damn phone,” he whispered in frustration.

Gunshots in the distance startled him, and called his attention. More, and it was clear they weren’t so distant after all— less than a block away, for sure.

“Here,” Jim said, shoving the phone against the man who’d loaned it to him’s chest, before drawing his weapon and taking off in the direction of the sound.

“Jim!” Harvey barked because Jim hadn’t so much as directed anyone to come with him before running off toward the sound of gunfire by himself.

“Ugh!” He groaned. “Get him in a car and then back us up!” Harvey ordered, hoping they’d follow it despite the fact that he wasn’t captain and still somewhat infamous. With that, he ran after Jim.

Once Jim got outside he could tell the shots were coming from somewhere in the street— probably right around the corner. They weren’t muffled enough to be indoors and sounded dangerously close. He didn’t hear any automatics, though, and they’d come in without sirens so there was a chance he could take them by surprise.

He came to a sudden stop when the sight of a bullet passing through a man’s forehead and out the back ended up being what he found. He turned his head to the direction the bullet had come from to find Victor Zsasz looking damn proud of himself.

When he looked back, there were four bodies surrounding the one that was just now collapsing to the ground.

“Oh good!” Zsasz said, then blew air over the top of his pistol before spinning and holstering it, despite the fact that Jim was now pointing his gun at him. “We were hoping you’d show.”

“We?” Jim questioned, just as he heard Harvey’s hurried footsteps coming up behind him.

“Me and the boss. He’s hurt pretty bad and couldn’t make it to the car. We were hiding out but I guess these idiots circled back and found us. Sucks for them,” Zsasz shrugged in the direction of his handiwork.

“Penguin?” Jim pressed.

“Oh, yeah. He’s over there,” Zsasz gestured into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. “He needs an ambulance, I think. We’ll sort out the details later, but we’re talking a real, hospital ambulance. No GCPD med ward or Arkham, okay? We’re innocent. We were attacked by these madmen.” 

Jim nodded, not really considering Zsasz’s words or his own actions. “Harvey, call an ambulance,” he holstered his weapon and started toward where Zsasz had said Oswald was.

The flashlight found him almost immediately when Jim clicked it on, leaning against a wall and looking half-conscious, blood staining his lower left side.

“Oz,” Jim hit his knees next to him and pulled up his shirt. Someone had bandaged the wound well enough, and he sighed with relief.

“Jim,” Oswald said, groggy and trying to lift his hand. Jim noticed it and put his own inside it, lacing his fingers between Oswald’s.

“You’re going to be fine, we’ve got an ambulance on the way.”

He frowned with worry when Oswald started to laugh. It wasn’t good for him to laugh.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I want to die like this,” he kept laughing until he choked on what Jim hoped was excess saliva and not blood. He didn’t see any blood near Oswald’s mouth, so maybe the bullet had missed his stomach.

“Like what?” Jim urged, brow furrowed, just wanting Oswald to stay conscious if nothing else. The stain on the bandage was large, and it was obvious he was still bleeding heavily.

“With you, fretting over me like you care,” he sputtered another laugh. It was dark, so Jim lifted a hand, and touched his face.

“I do care,” he said softly, and Oswald’s smile disappeared as his wet eyes shifted to meet Jim’s. “And you’re not dying. Stay with me,” his gentle palm against Oswald’s face became rough and prodding as Oswald’s eyes threatened to fall closed.

Oswald looked back at him, eyes shifting down quite obviously to his lips and then staying there.

“I wish I remembered us,” he said. “I wish that every day, of all the things I…” his voice trailed off. “I just wish I remembered what it felt like to kiss you.”

Jim stared at him, and for a moment, he was sure he was going to lean in right then and there. Kiss him, if only just to calm him down. It was dark, but he could hear more footsteps behind him. His men were here, and any moment someone would be shining a light on them. So instead Jim just gazed back at him, unable to speak despite how much he wanted to keep Oswald talking.

He pulled Oswald’s hand up and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently. He tasted blood because Oswald’s hand was covered in blood, probably from touching the wound.

“You get shot too much,” Jim murmured against his hand.

Oswald seemed spaced out, just staring back at him until he blinked. “I’ve been shot before?” Then his face faltered, crinkling at first but then paling and falling loose.

“Oz,” Jim prodded, raising his free hand to Oswald’s shoulder and shaking gently. But he was out, and Jim cursed.

As if on cue he heard the distinct ambulance siren and closed his eyes in gratitude that they had better dedication to quick arrival than the better half of the GCPD. Carefully, he removed his hands and made sure Oswald’s body stayed relaxed against the wall and didn’t fall.

He stood and backed off just as the paramedics surrounded him. Maybe this Oswald didn’t know it, but Jim knew that body had survived far, far worse. He’d be okay. He had to be okay.

o-o-o-o

Jim didn’t get to see Oswald while he was recovering. No one was allowed in for questioning and Jim couldn’t insinuate he was there for anything else. He couldn’t go in unless Oswald asked for him, and it became clear after a week that Oswald hadn’t done so. If he had they would have called him— he’d asked them to.

It was embarrassing, because he’d been half-convinced Oswald would. He didn’t know why. After all, the man hadn’t spoken to him in over a month before the incident. But fuck, Jim was worried about him. He followed news about Penguin’s far too closely and obsessively for Harvey not to notice, but he was starting to not care. He’d been close to telling Harvey about the whole thing before Oswald lost his memory, anyway.

Oswald had gone back to work only three days after his surgery, which meant the bullet likely hadn’t pierced anything too vital. Jim kept telling himself he was sure he was okay, but he couldn’t help wanting to hear it from his mouth. Watch him walk, bend, see if he winced.

That was when something incredibly odd occurred. He was off duty, headed home for an earlier evening than usual— at least the sun was still half-way out. He had a sub sandwich in one hand and a closed umbrella in the other because the clouds looked like rain.

And there was Oswald, stepping straight out of a florist’s with lilies in his hand. He was alone upon exiting, which was virtually unprecedented for Oswald outside of his own establishments these days. No doubt he at least had a driver with him— and it wasn’t long before Jim spotted the black sedan waiting for him.

As if sensing eyes on him, Oswald looked over his shoulder. Jim quickly realized he was staring with a mouth full of half-chewed turkey sub and possibly some of it still hanging out. He looked down, swallowing before chewing enough, nearly coughing when it got stuck as he wiped his face on his sleeve.

When he looked up again, Oswald was walking away, toward the car.

It was obvious where he was going, but Jim had spent too much time worrying about him lately to let this chance pass up. Throwing the rest of his sandwich in a conveniently placed trash can he hurried into a jog to catch up with Oswald before he reached the car.

He just barely made it, “Oswald!” he said, just before the window of the car started to roll down.

“You should back off,” a voice from the car window said, and Jim turned his head to find the man not quite pointing a gun at him, but looking plenty threatening and with only one hand on the wheel.

“It’s okay,” Oswald said, sighing, and Jim didn’t noticed he’d turned to face Jim until he’d looked up from wondering if he should threaten the driver with arrest just to get him to mind his own business.

“What is it?” Oswald asked, rather impatiently, holding the lilies carefully at his side. Jim looked down at them, trying to find the right words. 

“I know you have to go,” he said, and Oswald seemed confused, “It’s almost dark. Do you want company?”

“Why?” Oswald asked, to the point.

“Well… I was going to lead up to asking how you were doing, after getting shot and all that…” Jim admitted sheepishly.

Oswald heaved a sigh, and turned away from him to reach for the car door handle. “Fine,” he said, just before Jim was sure he was going to just leave him there. Jim blinked with some surprise, and stood there for a while after Oswald had gotten in the car and left the door open.

“Um, hello?” Oswald poked his head out and barked at him, and Jim immediately hurried to get inside.

The car had started moving with no dialogue between them, and after a few moments the divider rolled down partially.

“Ain’t he a cop, boss?” The driver asked.

“Mind your own business, Simon,” Oswald lifted a hand to press a button that closed the divider once again.

“To answer your question, I’m fine,” Oswald said, now to Jim. “All but fully recovered.”

Jim nodded, and he seemed like he was telling the truth. He hadn’t winced when he bent to get in the car, nor was he shifting uncomfortably now.

“That man, the one you arrested,” Oswald continued, “he and his friends were the ones who did this to me.”

Jim looked at him with some confusion.

“My memory, they took my memory.” Oswald clarified, and Jim’s eyes widened with some surprise. Did that mean…? 

“So he lied?” Jim frowned hard.

“I don’t know what he told the GCDP, but he was part of some weird… science cult or…” Oswald trailed off, waving off any further need for an answer to that question. “Ed found some stain in the warehouse I was last seen at when I lost it, was able to analyze it somewhere I guess. Eventually he tracked it back to them. Apparently they wanted to wipe my memory completely, make me forget who I was. But it didn’t work right. They were working on a way to fix the problem and try again.”

“I guess it was some kind of experiment. The leader wanted to see if I’d have the same… ambition, or goals or violent tendencies or just if I would be me at all I guess…” he trailed off. “I don’t know, it gives me a headache thinking about it.”

Jim considered quietly for a few moments, then spoke. “I guess it makes sense to use you. Someone like you would end up in the news either way, they’d be able to follow whatever story played out…”

Oswald heaved and irritated sigh.

“Why didn’t you call me? I said I’d help if you found anything.”

Oswald shrugged. “It ended up being kind of short notice. Ed did all the investigative stuff himself and then called me to tell me he’d found out where they were. I went in with everything I had, we won with some minor injuries, but…” Oswald sighed, “…according to the results of some messy interrogations there’s no reversing it. I’m stuck like this.”

Jim felt a pang in his heart at that. He was sure he’d given up all hope of Oswald showing up with his memory back in-tact again. But now that it was further confirmed, he’d felt some form of hope he still hid away thoroughly crushed. Nothing left to do but go back to convincing himself this was for the best.

“Ed did all of that for me but because it didn’t work, he’s just gone. He can’t stand to be around me when I don’t remember anything,” Oswald went on, and Jim listened tentatively.

“Just like you,” he sighed out, turning his head away to look out the window.

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but Oswald interrupted when he kept talking.

“I can’t really blame him, I’m stuck in the past. I’ve figured out a lot of what happened between us but that doesn’t mean I know him. I can’t possibly trust him even if I did before, not without time. And he won’t give me that.”

Jim didn’t know what to do with this conversation, why Oswald was so calm about the whole thing all of the sudden, or why it bothered him more than anything thus far. There was no emotion, no anger or resentment or even the slightest insult.

“If it makes you feel any better you didn’t trust me. That hasn’t changed,” Jim said, making some kind of honest conversation being the only thing he could think to do.

Oswald turned to him, brow furrowed in confusion. Finally, an emotion. “But I thought we…”

Jim’s lips twitched at the edge, “it was complicated.”

Oswald’s face fell to plainness again and he looked away, sighing. “I guess it would have had to be,” then Oswald looked back at him, just as the car rolled to a stop. “Maybe I trusted you more than I let you think I did,” he offered.

Jim shrugged.

“Maybe even more than I wanted to,” the car had come to a stop and Oswald sat silently beside him for a few moments. Jim could feel his eyes on him but refused to meet them. Oswald’s words and soft tone of voice was sending heavy shocks down his spine and if he looked at him in this confined space he didn’t know what would happen. He was having a hard time remembering why nothing was supposed to happen.

He didn’t move until he heard the click of the car door opening, and could hear the wind blowing and Oswald’s foot against the wet gravel as he got out.

“Wait here,” Oswald ducked his head back into the car to say, “I’ll only be a minute.”

Jim waited. Eleven minutes, actually. Not that he’d been counting. But that was how long it had been according to his watch when he started to hear Oswald’s footsteps in the gravel again. Oswald had a rather distinct set of footsteps.

Jim looked at Oswald’s face in the dim light of the evening sky, but found no redness or sign of tears.

“Are you okay?” He asked anyway, just as the car started to vibrate under the start of the engine.

Oswald turned his head, looked at Jim for just a few moments, and reached up to place a gloved hand on the side of his face. The glove smelled like cut flower stems and rainwater, and Jim didn’t get to speak or think before Oswald had leaned over and kissed him.

It was just chaste enough for the sloppiness to be subtle. Just passionate enough to mask any evidence that Oswald was out of practice. Just soft enough, good enough and perfectly placed enough to make Jim want to melt against it.

He didn’t have time to before Oswald pulled away, and cleared his throat.

“It was bugging me that I didn’t remember what that was like,” he said, simply. From the corner of his eye Jim watched Oswald chew gently on his bottom lip, then run his tongue along it. His voice was rather nonchalant but his body language made his weakened state clear.

“Wasn’t really like that,” Jim said, licking his own lips and inhaling deeply when he realized he’d stopped breathing the moment their lips touched. Oswald looked at him and blinked with eyes full of askance.

“When I kissed you before you were shaking. You held onto me like you’d let go of everything else.”

Oswald’s face twisted into some warp of both a frown and a smile, “that would never happen,” he said.

“No,” Jim agreed, “but that’s what it felt like.”

Their ride was quiet for its remainder. Jim didn’t know Oswald had directed the driver to his apartment before they pulled up in front of it. He looked out the window as the car came to a stop, having not been paying attention, and blinked with surprise when he saw his building.

“Oh,” he said. “Thanks.”

Oswald merely nodded, smiling the smallest bit when Jim looked at him.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jim said.

“Is this what we’re going to be now, Jim?” Oswald asked, lightly. “You, weirdly half-caring from a distance while you try to thwart all my plans at the same time?”

Jim smiled just a little, and shrugged. “Isn’t that what we’ve always been?”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Get out of my car.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Jim said, mostly humorously as he did as he was told. Oswald scoffed but not without amusement as he watched Jim climb out, close the car door with a light slam, and walk up the stairs to his building. He watched until he was out of sight, not realizing until it returned that he’d forgotten the weight on his shoulders.He sat back as the car started to move again, holding onto the sound of his mother’s voice in his head, reminding him that time can solve anything.

o-o-o-o-o

A week passed with no contact. That was expected, as Jim’s ill-planned invasion of what was one of Oswald’s most private moments wasn’t exactly meant to change anything. They certainly lacked closure, but then, who didn’t Jim lack that with? Things were the same, but then they were so impossibly different.

He was home. Alone, of course, and despite the fact that it was his day off he was half-way through a cup of coffee that he’d use to fuel a visit to the precinct. His men absolutely hated when he did that, save maybe Harvey— or maybe Harvey too. But knowing the goings-on on a day to day basis helped him feel less on edge about all of it.

A soft tap on his apartment door came as a surprise, and he looked up from the couch and his coffee cup. He watched the door and waited, not sure if he really heard it. Seconds passed and then a harsher, more defined knocking and Jim huffed and set his coffee down as he stood.

He opened the door fast and wide, expecting a neighbor or his landlord or—

“Hello there, Jim!” Oswald.

Jim blinked. The man himself was a surprise, but the cheerfulness was a bigger one. Especially in comparison to the last few times Jim had seen him. Searching for a purpose amidst the fragments of his destroyed memories and all that. Not a bad surprise, though.

“Oswald,” Jim greeted wearily, stepping aside to allow him inside without thinking. This Oswald was somewhat more of a stranger than the one he knew months ago, and yet here he was, allowing him into his home despite that and the definitely-a-serial-killer detail.

Oswald seemed just as surprised as he was about the invite, though he appeared clearly amused.

“What is it?” Jim asked as Oswald passed him to enter. Jim watched him walk, narrowing his eyes. Something was different, there was a smugness he couldn’t place.

“Nothing urgent,” Oswald said, eyes giving Jim’s apartment a quick once over before turning to face him, less than a foot away from where he stood. “Just thought we could talk.”

“You seem better,” Jim offered.

Oswald looked at him with an expression Jim couldn’t read— something more sincere than the rest of the mask he was currently quite obviously wearing. Surprise, disbelief maybe.

“Better!” Oswald seemed to catch himself just as the gears in Jim’s brain started spinning. “Yes, I’ve been feeling better. Less… sad, you know.” He waved off the reference to the breakdowns and ill-considered decisions he’d made the last few times he’d been in the same vicinity as Jim Gordon.

“That’s good,” Jim said, and he meant it. He followed Oswald further into the room, watching Oswald’s eyes fall on his coffee cup before he smirked as if making some inference about its existence.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Jim asked.

“Scotch,” Oswald said plainly, and Jim was surprised at the easy answer, but nodded, glad he happened to have some on-hand. He left Oswald there alone in his unkempt living room to retrieve a bottle and a glass.

He returned to find Oswald seated on the edge of his couch, like he didn’t want it to touch the majority of him or maybe he just felt on edge. It was hard to decipher, until he set a moderately sized glass of scotch down in front of Oswald and watched him immediately snatch it up and down the whole thing in one go.  
Jim’s eyes widened, and he stood still, waiting.

Oswald set the class down with a clank against the wooden coffee table. He licked his lips, and took a deep breath, eyes finally moving up to Jim.

“What is it?” Jim asked after little more than a few seconds.Oswald sucked in a breath. “You must’ve felt pretty lucky.”

Jim furrowed his brow at the statement and disregard of his question.

“When I lost all my memories, when I didn’t remember the things that transpired between us. That was it, the end. No need for any of that messy break-up stuff. Just freedom,” Oswald snapped his fingers, “just like that.”

Jim looked down at him for a long time.

“No, I didn’t feel lucky,” He said, simply. Oswald stared him down for what felt like over a minute, and Jim met his eyes, feeling distinctly like he was being accused of something but he wasn’t sure what. Something in Oswald’s demeanor changed then, like a thought had destroyed his resolve and Jim’s eyes searched for clues as to what the thought had been.

“Oswald-,”

“You said yes.” Oswald said on a breath, and that was the instant when the pieces started to click together in Jim’s head.

“That… naive, idiot version of me—ugh, now I know how Ed feels,” he took another deep breath, eyes fixed on Jim’s coffee cup as his words started to come less elegantly. “He—, I— asked you if we were lovers.”

“Oswald?” Jim stared, still with some disbelief, straightening as his arms fell from crossed over his chest down to his sides.

“You said yes,” Oswald finished, voice cracking at the end.

“You’re back?” Jim asked, breathless, and his heart pounded as a half-smile quirked at the edge of Oswald’s lips. “You got your memory back?” Jim stepped toward the couch, but stopped when Oswald shifted away.

“That’s not what I remember,” Oswald said, tone firm once again. “I remember it just being… you know, _fun._ ”

“Oswald—“

“Jim,” Oswald stopped him, a little harshly. He wasn’t done. “Why did you say we were lovers?”

_Because it was just a word, the easiest thing to say at the time, because he could tell that version of Oswald was falling apart and telling him it was just sex could have made it worse, because he wasn’t thinking straight._

Those were the explanations that flew through his mind but as he stood, awash with relief and that Oswald was back to the way he was when it— when all of it happened— he knew none of them were the truth.

Jim wanted to touch him, he had all this time, the memory of how many times they’d come together and not wasted a second before getting their hands on each other. There was nothing to stop him, and it made him forget that Oswald had asked a question. He stepped forward, shoving aside the space between them and everything in it and leaned over Oswald, bracing his knee on the couch next to his thigh, taking Oswald’s face in his hands and bringing it closer.

He stopped, breathed the same air as their noses touched and he felt Oswald as at his mercy as he was in return, lingering in that moment of need until—

“I love you,” Oswald said, his lips brushing Jim’s as he spoke, and if Jim’s heart wasn’t already pounding… “I’m sorry but I love you, Jim…”

“Oswald,” Jim whispered.

“Isn’t it pathetic? I fell in love right at the start,” Oswald was laughing at himself and Jim could only hold his face and press their foreheads together.

“I missed you,” Jim didn’t know he was saying it until he heard his own voice. Oswald relaxed at the words, like maybe they weren’t the same but they were enough.

“You could have had me the whole time, idiot,” He said, with some amused resemblance of spite. “Instead you left me to pine, and fantasize and…” he trailed off, face crinkling as if remembering particularly embarrassing thoughts.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jim said, raising his other knee so he was straddling Oswald on the couch.

“Yes, you will,” Oswald grabbed the front of Jim’s old white t-shirt and tugged him in, kissing him under a sharp breath, like even now, after how many times there was a shock of impact. Maybe like coming home, like no mater how many times you did it there was nothing better.

Jim turned his head, pressing Oswald’s back against the couch, tongue sliding against Oswald’s in his mouth like it belonged there. His chest pressed closer, arms wrapped around Oswald’s back to tug him forward then push him back like the rest of his body wanted to be as warm and claimed as his mouth and then—

—a question, Jim pulled back suddenly, looking at Oswald’s surprised eyes.

“How did you get it back?” He asked, breath heaving.

Oswald’s face crinkled. “You have coffee breath and you taste like coffee—,”

“Oswald!”

Oswald rolled his eyes, then shrugged. “It just wore off. I woke up this morning and I was back,” he laughed. “I guess those idiots didn’t know enough about their own concoction to tell me it was temporary while I was sticking toothpicks in their—“

“Oswald,” Jim interrupted just because he didn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence.

Oswald looked up at him and laughed, euphorically, like perhaps he’d lost it if he’d ever had it to begin with.

“You know, to be fair, this probably isn’t the worst thing either of us has ever done,” he said.

“There’s still time to get there,” Jim said, eyes fixed with his as he settled lightly on Oswald’s lap as a hand idly stroked his upper thigh. “It’s not over yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler: it'll never be over they got married and had 5 kids only 1.5 of them were evil.
> 
> I don't think we know what happened to Olga, I know she was actually with Babs n stuff but I like to think she stuck around w/ Ozzy because that's what I like to think.
> 
> sorry ed is weird in this. i don't know what an ed is.


End file.
